


In Her Shoes

by ThatBishLizzie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Magic, Multi, Not to be taken seriously, Time Travel, body switching, crackfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22607539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatBishLizzie/pseuds/ThatBishLizzie
Summary: This is a crackfic, just having some fun! The idea was born mainly from a really interesting rant I saw online that was defending Sansa, saying that if Daenerys had lived Sansa’s life...well, you can imagine the rest.And I’ve always liked the ‘Vice Versa’ trope; Freaky Friday, the Change-Up, etc.I also love time travel fics.So I thought, why not go all the way back to S1 and have Dany and Sansa switch bodies?It’s only fun (for me) if they actually remember everything.I may not even finish it, it might be the dumbest idea ever, but I thought it would be fun.If I do finish it, it’s another Jonerys endgame, tho not until Dany gets her own body back.Might do Theonsa too but I’m not tagging it yet because I have zero faith in my ability to write Sansa positively and I don’t want to draw in Theonsa shippers with a story that might end up being anti-Sansa.That said, if you happen to be a Sansa Stan and have ideas for how to portray her better, I’m open to it.I am extremely new to writing, so constructive criticism is very welcome.All characters and places and primary storylines  belong to George RR Martin and D&D.
Relationships: Daenerys Targaryen & Arya Stark, Daenerys Targaryen & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark & Viserys Targaryen
Comments: 858
Kudos: 286





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> CW: due to the fact that the switch happens after both women die, I kind of had to kill Sansa. So, warning for extreme violence in the prologue

Prologue 

Sansa

After the razing of Kings Landing, Jon had killed his queen. Cersei was gone, Daenerys was gone. The Dragon Queen’s armies had scattered to the winds, her dragon flown away with her body.

Bran had been chosen to be the new King of the Seven Kingdoms and Sansa had spoken for the North. The North would never again bow to a Southern King, even if that King was a Stark.

Northern independence had been granted to her. Jon had been sent to the Wall for killing his queen, and Arya had sailed for whatever was west of Westeros.

And Sansa was the Queen of the North. 

She was happy, safe in her home, with no one to question or challenge her. 

But the shortages had had an effect. She had hoped to blame Daenerys Targaryen’s showing up with her armies and dragons for their paltry stores. She had hoped it would cause a revolt against her. But now Daenerys was gone.

It was Arya who had killed the Night King, Sansa thought angrily, why had Jon even brought his queen here? Because he loved her? His love could not have been too strong, he’d killed her once she’d burned the city. And now he was gone too, had disappeared North of the Wall with his precious Free Folk, and she was left with a kingdom of hungry people and not enough to feed them. 

Edmure Tully, her cousin, should have helped, but he was clearly not over Sansa’s chiding him at the great council, and she cursed his stupid pride.

She’d thought it was odd that neither Dorne nor The Iron Islands had demanded their independence. 

To her horror, she found out why only a few moons later.

The new prince of Dorne refused to pay any taxes, Yara Greyjoy resumed pillaging, reaving the already bereft North and the Six Kingdoms. 

They raided Highgarden, too, and it’s Lord, who’d inexplicably been named Master of Coin, was thoroughly incompetent. 

Bran was unable to give the North any aid.

Lord Bronn pointed out drolly that the North was an Independent kingdom, so why should anyone help them?

Sansa told him he was a wastrel, and that did nothing to change his mind about sending help.

She’d once considered Tyrion to have the greatest mind she knew, but he’d supported the mad queen and chosen a fool as Master of Coin.

She was weary, sad, and so angry.

Brienne had left her, to lead Bran’s Kingsguard. 

Arya had taken off to sail into the Sunset Sea, from which no one had ever returned.

Jon left the Wall to go North with his free folk. 

And Sansa was alone. Once she’d loved to play with her friends in the North, daughter of its Lord and Warden, always with the prettiest dresses. 

But most of her friends were gone now, and those left were only a shell. Some bore scars from the Long Night, others bore scars from unremitting war.

They wore rags now and looked at her dresses in bitter hatred. Looked at her with mangled hope.

She foolishly thought it couldn’t be worse, and then the news came.

Kings Landing had been razed. Again. They’d often claimed that Kings Landing had been burned to the ground by Daenerys. But of course it hadn’t. Shells of buildings remained, and some of the city stood, many rooms even in the Red Keep were all but untouched. But not now. Now it was ash. All of it, every stone, melted and burned to nothing. 

Everyone in it, ashes as well. Highgarden had been next. 

Clamoring for news, for any crumb of information she could find, she finally heard the story. 

A bastard sellsword with a company of two thousand had rallied the Unsullied, had rallied the Dothraki. Had even rallied the Tiger Cloaks of Volantis and the Fiery Hand of the Red Temple. Had joined with Dorne and the Iron Islands.

The man was named Daario Naharis, and he’d been joined by a single riderless dragon.

There was no fighting an army such as this, no fighting the enraged dragon that flew above them. No resources, no way to build the mighty crossbows that had taken a dragon down.

There was no reasoning with them. They had come to Westeros for one purpose and could not be swayed by promises of coin, of power.

They wanted one thing and one thing only. Revenge for their Queen.

And by the time they reached the North, most of Westeros was gone, a smoking, smoldering wasteland of ruin, that had once been an empire.

Winterfell was not nearly as defensible as it had once been, having been burned and broken by Daenerys’s undead dragon, and before that, wrecked by the Boltons.

The Dothraki arrived first. After a few days of their raid and the horror they’d inflicted, worse than anything Ramsey had done, for they had no need to preserve her face, or produce an heir, they had no need of caution, Sansa was almost grateful when the great black shape loomed above them and unleashed his flames. 

She watched as her home burned to the ground. Watched her family’s Godswood burned, the Godswood where she’d made a vow to Jon and broke it the same day. They would continue further North after this, she knew, and kill Jon. After what they’d done to her, she didn’t want to imagine what they would do to the man who had killed their Queen. 

And she didn’t have time to wonder.

She’d thought that the agony they’d put her through could not be worse, until the flames fell over her. But in seconds it was over. And then darkness.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both women are switched, its S1, and they’re freaked out.

Sansa 

Sansa woke with a shriek, throwing herself out of the bed and across the room. The pain was gone. The room was lit with the rising sun, and she was confounded.

Where was she? Was this death? A room full of light and...a group of women rushed in, fussing over her, offering her food, wine, water.

A man entered then, and she froze in terror. He was tall, with silvery hair like Daenerys Targaryen’s, and his eyes were a pale lilac, lighter than Daenerys’ violet eyes. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He demanded, slapping her, hard, across the face. 

Another man entered, fat, with a beard in two short braids.

“What is happening?” He asked. “Is the princess all right, Your Grace?”

“She’s fine,” the silver haired man snapped. “You will behave yourself, sweet sister.”

Sansa stared at them in blank terror. “Sister?” She managed, and her heart started pounding, hard. “My voice...what’s wrong with my voice?”

“There’s nothing wrong with your voice. But if you don’t stop acting the fool, there’s going to be something wrong. Do you want to wake the dragon?” 

“The dragon...” she repeated. “Where is he?”

The man suddenly grabbed her hair, pulling at it, twisting, and Sansa screamed, pulling away from him, feeling her hair pulled from her scalp, and as she drew back, and stared at him, she saw in his hand the hair was silver, like his own.

No, she thought wildly. No, no, no. Her voice was Daenerys’, and that hair...she rushed across the room, stopping before a mirror. 

How? Gods, how? How had this happened?

“I’m Daenerys fucking Targaryen,” she whispered. “How?” She turned back to the two men. “You must be Viserys,” she said. 

“You’re making me very angry right now, Dany.”

“I need to get to Winterfell,” she said, mustering a calm she did not feel. Hadn’t Daenerys been confident? Had anything ever frightened her?

“Winterfell? For what? To be murdered by the usurper’s dog?” Viserys snapped. 

“The Starks will not harm us,” she said. 

Viserys moved toward her, slapping her again, and the fat man gently took his arm.

“Let her rest,” the man said. “She’s clearly had some kind of nightmare.” But the man looked at her warily, as if she’d gone mad.

I sound mad, Sansa thought wildly.

“If you pull a stunt like this tomorrow, I swear, sweet sister, you will wake the dragon.”

“Where is he?” She asked again. Would they know she wasn’t Daenerys? She shuddered as she remembered the massive black dragon who had incinerated her. 

“Where is who?”

“The dragon. Drogon,” she said. She remembered then that one of the dragons had been named for Viserys. Viserion, the one the Night King had taken from Daenerys. The dragons had been born after Viserys died, then. What was happening?

“We are the last dragons, sweet sister. Now get some sleep. I need you to be perfect today. You know how important it is. You are a stupid little girl, but you know better than to do this.”

“What’s happening today?” She whispered, afraid of the answer. 

“Today you will meet Khal Drogo. You will marry him and get me my army so I can take back the throne that was stolen from our family.”

The two men left the room. The women who’d rushed in gave her some wine, and she gulped it. 

She had to stay calm. She had to figure out a way to get back home to Winterfell. But...Winterfell has burned.

She shook her head, trying to think. Khal Drogo. Was that Daenerys’ first husband? Yes; Drogon had been named for him. 

She was shivering. She had to think.

The day passed with one terror after another. Viserys came to her and presented her with a dress, told her again that she must be perfect. He slipped the dress she wore off her shoulders, taking her bared beast in his hand, squeezing it. 

What kind of brother is this? 

She met with Khal Drogo as asked, Viserys telling her that the man was a savage, one of the greatest killers alive. 

The man she was being forced to marry was the largest man she’d ever met, and pure muscle. He was handsome in a primal way, but Sansa was afraid.

She was not safe here. Not the Lady of Winterfell, not the Queen in the North; but also not the fierce Dragon Queen.

She made one more attempt to reason with Viserys. He’s her brother, she thought. He must bear some feeling for her.

Viserys touched her face, almost tenderly.

And in the gentlest of voices, told her that he would allow all of Drogo’s forty thousand men, and their horses, to fuck her if it would get him an army.

Sansa shuddered. 

She quickly realized that when he asked her if she wanted to ‘wake the dragon’, what he meant was that he would beat her, slap her, pull her hair.

She had to find a way to get away from here. But how? And where would she go?

If Viserys was alive still, if Daenerys was so young, and her dragons not yet born, Winterfell must still stand. Was Father still alive? And Mother? 

Longing suddenly filled her. They were, they must be! Were they wondering where she was? Was her body laying in bed, her soul stuck here?

Then a terrifying thought: Daenerys. Mad Daenerys Targaryen might be in her body! She would kill her entire family! 

She had to find a way to get home.

Daenerys 

The last thing Daenerys remembered was pain. Betrayal.

Why? Why? 

How could he do it? His face. He looked distraught. 

He had wept, holding her as the life left her.

Daenerys’ eyes fluttered open. The pain was gone. She leapt up, out of the bed she had been lying in. 

Winterfell! She was back at Winterfell. 

How...had Jon failed in killing her? Had he brought her back here? Where was Drogon? Was she a prisoner?

Her mind whirled with thoughts, and she carefully walked to the door, opening it. There were no guards posted, so she ran down the hallway, looking around for a way out. 

She raced down the stone stairway, almost running into a young man, who caught her shoulders and looked into her face with concern.

He had reddish brown curly hair, and bright blue eyes. “Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, “I need to get out.”

Her voice sounded odd, as if she had a stuffy nose. Had she been crying? 

And why shouldn’t she cry? Hadn’t the last man alive she’d trusted, aside from Grey Worm, sworn himself to her, then killed her?

“All right. I’ll come with you,” the boy said gently. 

She walked alongside him. Did he know who she was? He must. He was coming with her to prevent her escape. 

He was kind, which was strange for a Northerner. 

“I must leave,” she said firmly. “I understand you’re all angry with me. But I - “

The boy was laughing. “Leave? Why? And to where?”

Daenerys frowned. It was a fair question. Where? Kings Landing...she stopped. Kings Landing! She had burned it. Killed hundreds of thousands of civilians.

She sat down then, on the floor, horror overtaking her.

“I’m a monster,” she whispered.

The boy laughed again. “I wouldn’t go that far. Arya might,” he added, and Daenerys wondered how he was finding all of this so humorous. “And you can be a little snippy. But monster? Come on.” He leaned close to her, pressing his hand to her forehead. “Are you all right?” He asked again. 

The gesture of it, the simple and genuine concern, caused a lump to form in her throat. She shook her head miserably.

“I’m just like my father,” she whispered.

“Well, that’s not so bad, is it?” He ruffled her hair. “You’re much prettier than father,” he added. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

He gingerly helped her up, and they walked into the Great Hall. 

It seemed merrier than she remembered it, and two children came bounding in, a boy chasing a girl, both of them laughing wildly, followed by a couple who watched them fondly. 

The man had a strong jawline and longish brown hair, worn much the way Jon and Arya had worn theirs, and the woman was stately, with long, luxurious auburn hair and blue eyes. 

The two children sat down, and Daenerys noticed that they bore a striking resemblance to Bran and Arya. They were much younger, and she wondered if these people were more Starks. They must be. 

“Mother, Sansa isn’t feeling well today,” the boy who’d walked her to the Hall was saying to the woman, and Daenerys felt a surge of anger. 

Sansa Stark. The indiscreet lying bitch who didn’t know how to keep her stupid pernicious mouth shut. Of course she was still here. She would probably demand Daenerys he kept in a dungeon as soon as she came in. 

The stately woman was approaching her, resting her hand against Daenerys’ forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” she told her. 

“She was pale before. She said she’s a monster,” the young man told her.

“Sansa, you’re not a monster! What ever could you be thinking?”

“She’s a monster sometimes,” the little girl piped up.

“Arya! That’s no way to speak of your sister!”

Daenerys stared at them, feeling suddenly dizzy. 

Why are they calling me Sansa? She reached around for her hair, falling down her back, and looked at it; it shimmered red as fire in her hand.

Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe. Was this a nightmare? A punishment? One of the Seven Hells they talked about? 

“You all think I’m Sansa Stark?” She asked finally. 

The group stared at her now. 

“Who do you think you are?” The baby faced Arya asked, looking at her in fascination. 

She hesitated, then lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m Daenerys Targaryen,” she said.

“Can I be Visenya Targaryen?” The miniature Arya responded enthusiastically.

“Which Daenerys Targaryen?” Miniature Bran added. “The one who married Maron Martell or the one who died of Shivers?” 

Daenerys stared at him. “What?”

“You should choose Rhaenys instead,” Arya added. “She had a dragon. Neither Daenerys had a dragon.”

I had three, Daenerys thought, the lump returning to her throat. And if she was dead and in some kind of hell, where was Drogon? 

Was he alone, hunted, grieving for his lost brothers and mother?

“Well, don’t cry about it,” Arya said, seeing her expression. “We can pretend she had a dragon.”

The man, who Daenerys realized must be Ned Stark, sighed deeply, and fixed his eyes on her. “Sansa,” he said. “In all seriousness. Are you all right?” 

“I’m all right,” she finally murmured. 

If Ned Stark was alive, and still at Winterfell...the woman with him, looking at her in concern must be Catelyn. The young man must be Robb, and the two kids at the table were Bran and Arya.

Her belly knotted then.

That meant...

As if her mind had conjured him, Jon fucking Snow entered the Great Hall.

He was much younger, and clean shaven, but she would know that face anywhere.

“Sansa thinks she’s Daenerys Targaryen,” Arya told him. 

“I thought you liked Alysanne Targaryen best,” Jon said, turning to her.

“Oh, does everyone have a favorite Targaryen now?” She demanded, her voice dripping bitterness. “Funny, I thought everyone here hated Targaryens.”

“Let’s eat,” Ned said, closing the discussion. “We’ll be heading out soon.”

“Where are we going?” Daenerys asked. Jon had told her his father - well, Uncle - had gone South and it had been disastrous. 

“An execution,” Bran said excitedly. “I’ve never seen one before.”

“Bloodthirsty little bugger, aren’t you?” Daenerys said.

“Sansa,” Catelyn snapped.

“And you judge me,” she shot back. 

“Nobody is judging you, Sansa,” Robb said. “But you sound...really out of sorts today.”

Out of sorts, she thought bitterly. I’m out of my body and out of my damn mind.

What year was it? She had to know. Did she herself exist somewhere? In her own body? She wanted her body back. 

She had to find out what was going on. 

Theon Greyjoy entered the Hall then, smirking at everyone.

Ned was discussing the man who was being executed with Catelyn. She had asked why the man had deserted the Nights Watch. Lost in her own thoughts, Daenerys was barely listening until Ned said, “some nonsense about dead men rising and killing people.”

Daenerys looked up from her porridge.

“But that’s the truth,” she said. She turned to Jon. “Tell him.”

Jon looked at her blankly. “Tell him what?”

“About the Night King. The White Walkers. The army of the dead.”

“The...what?” 

He doesn’t know, she realized. Fuck. This was how the Night King’s army grew so large. Nobody listened to the warnings. 

“There’s an army of the dead,” she repeated, “and every single person who is killed by them, ends up being another dead soldier.”

This caused immediate laughter. 

“You really took Old Nan’s stories to heart,” Theon told her. 

She glared at them. Fine, she thought. Let them ignore me. I’m sure as fuck not coming to help them next time.

Help them how? Her mind mocked her. You have no dragons, no armies, and you’re stuck in Sansa Stark’s fucking body. If you tried to hatch dragons you’d burn.

She stood. “I’m going outside,” she announced, and stormed out of the Hall. 

To her surprise, everything was green and, while she certainly would not describe it as warm, it was nowhere near as cold as it had been the last time she’d been at this wretched Keep. 

She had to figure out a way to get to her own body. But what if it were dead? Or worse, what if Sansa Stark was in it?

She’d probably get her stupid self killed with her self righteous conniving. The Dothraki and Viserys would have no tolerance for that garbage. Viserys would beat her senseless. 

She took a deep breath. She needed a plan. One thing was for certain, if Sansa Stark was in her body, she was likely no happier about it than Daenerys was. If they could find a person with magic abilities, maybe they could get back their own bodies.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is trying to figure out a way to get back to Winterfell, and Daenerys starts to like the Starks and tries to warn them what’s coming.

Sansa 

All she could feel was pain.

She had married the barbarian as ordered, in a ceremony that had been followed by horrific savagery; men killing each other, and fucking like dogs in front of everyone. 

Drogo had given her a horse, and she was given weapons as a gift, that she was expected to give to Drogo. She was given a book as well.

And three dragon eggs.

They told her the years had turned them to stone. Sansa had no idea how Daenerys had made them alive, had no idea how she’d navigated all this brutality.

She didn’t speak the language of these Dothraki. She had tried to fight Drogo the night of their wedding, earning bruises and the scorn of the Khal. 

Viserys beat her when he found out about it. 

And so these were her days, riding nonstop, and at night, raped by her husband. 

Sansa wished now that she’d found out more about Daenerys’ life. How had she managed this? How had she come to command these savages who looked upon her and her brother with derision?

A woman named Doreah tried to help her, offering to teach her how to ‘please him’. 

“Why would I want to please him?” She demanded. 

One thing she was able to do, was get some moon tea. 

She was not going to carry this man’s child, that was certain. 

The only kindness shown to her, was by Jorah Mormont. He kept telling her it would get better, but what did he know about it? 

She wondered though if she could use the man’s blatant infatuation with her, to get him to help her. 

The one thing she had that she could use, as all her political knowledge was useless in the face of such savagery, was her beauty. 

Daenerys was certainly beautiful. Sansa hated to acknowledge a single good thing about the mad queen, but this could not be denied. She had an otherworldly beauty that Sansa could use to her advantage. 

Sansa remembered how she had played Tyrion, suggesting that the only real obstacle in their possible remarriage and living happily, was his loyalty to the dragon queen. And it had driven the wedge between them that she’d wanted to.

Surely Jorah’s infatuation with her could be used the same way. She had to get home. 

It was all she could think about. She knew her parents were alive, and Robb, and Rickon. Even Lady. She wanted so badly to get to them. To stop them all from the horrors that awaited them. To protect them from mad Daenerys who might murder them in their sleep. 

She had to come up with a plan.

Daenerys 

Ned Stark had returned with his sons - and his nephew, Daenerys thought - with wolf puppies. 

She was given one, and she could not help but be enchanted by the pup’s antics. She was sweet and had a pretty little face.

She wanted to name her after one of her own family’s dragons; but she remembered Jon telling her that Sansa’s wolf had been named Lady. What had happened to her?

Daenerys held the puppy, enjoying her soft warmth, ruffling her fur and enjoying how she would lick her fingers affectionately. 

“I will protect you,” she promised the pup. “No one will hurt you.”

She was annoyed that she was expected to sit and learn embroidery. 

She was sitting in a room with a woman called Septa Mordane, little Arya, and a few other girls. The Septa was giving her embroidery a disapproving glare.

“Lady Sansa, we both know you can do better than this.”

This prompted Arya to look at her embroidery and start laughing. 

“What happened?” She asked. “Yours is worse than mine today.”

“It seems really unfair that we have to do this while the boys are learning useful things like archery and swordplay,” Daenerys said.

“I agree with Sansa,” Arya said enthusiastically, sitting up straight. 

“And they get to go riding. Why can’t we go riding?” Daenerys pressed on.

Septa Mordane clicked her tongue, more disapproval. 

The conversation with the Septa did not go anywhere, but that evening, Daenerys, realizing she had an ally in Arya, asked her to come with her to Ned Stark’s solar.

“Father, we need to speak with you.”

Ned sighed, heavily. “All right. Come in.”

“We want to learn sword fighting. And archery. It’s not fair that we have to sit in a dark little room sewing pretty useless things. You always say Winter is Coming. They’re your - our - house words. What does that mean? Just cold? Dead men are coming to kill us. War is coming. You know it is. We want to learn how to defend ourselves.”

“I don’t want to be a lady. I want to be a knight,” added Arya.

“And I want a horse of my own. Please,” Daenerys urged. 

“We can talk about this after the king’s visit,” Ned said.

“The King? You mean Robert Baratheon. The usurper.”

“Sansa! You don’t call him that! It’s treason.”

“But it’s true.”

“King Aerys was a tyrant, Sansa.”

“But Rhaegar wasn’t. And you know it.”

“He kidnapped our Aunt Lyanna,” Arya said.

Daenerys kept her eyes on Ned, unflinching. “Did he, though?”

Ned seemed to pale a little. “Arya, go to your room. I need to speak with your sister.”

Arya groaned but left the room.

“Sansa,” Ned began. “Where did you hear anything about Rhaegar Targaryen and...and your Aunt Lyanna?”

“Does it matter? You know he didn’t kidnap her. You know they loved each other. You know Jon is - “

“That’s enough,” Ned roared suddenly. “I need to know where you heard this.”

She hesitated. What would he do if she told him? Surely he wouldn’t kill her as long as she was in his daughter’s body. But what if he did? She couldn’t be sure, and trusting Starks had not been to her advantage.

“I’m not going to say anything,” she said carefully.

“Sansa, you have a lot of excellent qualities. But discretion is not one of them.”

It isn’t? She thought angrily. So this was a known fault, and yet Jon had told her anyway. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” she repeated. “And I won’t call Robert a usurper to his face. But why do you support him? He’s a terrible man.”

“He’s a good man, Sansa - “

“He’s not a good man! He approved the murder of Rhaegar’s children! If he was a good man, you would not have had to lie to protect Jon! What kind of monster would murder his friend’s nephew? An innocent babe. He’s not a good man, and you know he’s not a good man, and you support him anyway. Why?”

“There are things you are too young to understand - “

“Oh? What is it that happens in age that you would call a child murderer a good man?” She demanded fiercely. “A man bent on murdering two more children on another continent? A man who would kill a child who you love! That you would have to dishonor yourself, your wife, your marriage! That Jon would have to grow up a bastard, treated like garbage by your wife because she thinks he represents your betrayal! A betrayal that never even happened! All this suffering because your monstrous friend would murder a child otherwise!”

Ned looked suddenly, desperately tired. “There’s a side to him that’s good. He loved your Aunt Lyanna - “

“He didn’t love her. If he loved her he would protect her child, not kill him. Robert is a selfish pig.”

“That’s enough, Sansa.” He leaned forward. “I need you to promise me, give me your word, you will not tell anyone. I know you never got along with Jon - “ 

“I didn’t?”

“- and I understand why. It’s the same as your mother.”

“Because you let everyone think you betrayed her.”

“But if this gets out, Jon will be killed. You understand that, don’t you? Robert hates the Targaryens - “

“Even though his grandmother was a Targaryen.”

“Sansa. Give me your word.”

“I do,” she said with a sigh. “I give you my word.”

Ned looked at her warily. “I have no choice but to trust you. How did you find this out?”

“I can’t tell you. And you won’t believe me anyway.”

“Try me,” he said. 

“I’m afraid to tell you, if I’m being honest.”

“Afraid?”

“You support Robert Baratheon. You support a man who would murder children. How can I trust you?” 

Ned’s face registered hurt at that, and Daenerys realized that of course it hurt him; he believed she was his daughter.

And hadn’t she herself murdered children?

She shuddered, remembering Kings Landing.

“Sansa, you’re my daughter. I love you. You can’t think I would harm you.”

“What if I’m not your daughter?”

“If you’re suggesting that your mother, your own mother, would ever - “

“No! That’s not...not what I meant. I mean...I’m not Sansa Stark.”

Ned leaned back in his chair, studying her. “All right. I’ll play along. Who are you?”

“I’m Daenerys Targaryen.”

“As you said at breakfast.”

“Yes. And I too would appreciate your keeping this between us.”

Ned gave a short bark of a laugh. “Who would I tell?”

“I lived an entire life. Then I died. And woke up here at Winterfell.”

“And where is my daughter?”

“I’d guess in Pentos. In my body. With my dragons. Dragon eggs, I suppose. What year is this?”

“You realize this all sounds like madness.”

“Yes. And here’s some more madness. There is a dead army being raised beyond the Wall, set on human annihilation. Robert Baratheon is going to ask you to be his Hand. If you go south, you will die.”

“Is that so?” He was studying her skeptically, but he wasn’t dismissing her words outright.

“Yes. Robert is going to die, and Joffrey is going to have you beheaded.”

“For what crime?”

“Treason. You confessed that you wanted to take the throne for yourself.”

“And why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I was in Essos grieving my son and husband, and hatching my dragons.”

“Hatching dragons,” he repeated.

“You don’t have to believe me. But don’t go south. It’s the worst thing you could do. You’ll die, Robert will die, the entire realm will be torn apart by war, and nobody will be prepared for winter.”

“And what would you have me do, Sansa?”

“Stay here for now. Send a raven to...” she hesitated. “It’s Stannis Baratheon who has Dragonstone, isn’t it?”

“It is. Why?”

“Send him a raven. Dragonstone sits on a vast mine of obsidian. We need that obsidian. It’s one of the few things that can kill the dead.”

Daenerys could not tell whether Ned believed her or not, but he had agreed to keep their discussion between them. He’d also agreed to allow herself and Arya to learn some sword fighting and archery. She had lost Jorah, and had been murdered by Jon, because she’d stupidly never learned to fight for herself. She had to learn.

She quickly knew she did not have a talent for swordplay. She was determined, however, and practiced enthusiastically until she and Arya were told they must ready for the King’s arrival.

Daenerys knew it was coming and dreaded it. 

How could she face the usurper? How could she face his monstrous wife, who’d murdered Missandei? How could she fucking bow to them?

But she would have to. She stood in a line with the rest of the Starks, wearing a soft, powder blue cape, as the Baratheon monsters approached.

Robert came first, and he had the audacity to tell Ned he’d gotten fat.

Daenerys swallowed a satisfied smile as Ned’s eyes glanced over Robert’s bulging middle. 

Robert greeted them all, and Daenerys gritted her teeth. 

A golden haired boy with an arrogant smirk rode on a horse, his gaze raking them. Joffrey, Daenerys surmised. The Kingslayer rode up as well, removing his helmet and shaking out his hair, golden like his sister’s and son’s. 

Nephew, not son, she reminded herself. We have to call him nephew.

“Where’s the imp?” Arya asked. 

Daenerys felt a thread of anger winding through her at the thought of Tyrion Lannister. He had been her friend. Or so she had thought. She’d trusted him. Loved him. And his counsel had ruined her.

After the ridiculous ceremony of welcoming the king and queen, Ned went to the crypts with Robert, and they were allowed to go back to their activities.

Robb, Jon, and Theon were planning to go riding, and Daenerys felt a sudden longing. She rushed to them. 

“Can I come?”

“Riding? We were thinking to ride hard, Sansa,” Robb said. 

“So I’ll ride hard too.”

Theon laughed. “You won’t be able to keep up with us.”

She lifted her chin. “Maybe you won’t be able to keep up with me,” she snapped.

This made them all laugh, but she really didn’t care.

She knew she must seem an incompetent mess to them; in the short time she’d been there, she’d demonstrated that she was shit at embroidery, not much better with archery, was abysmal at swordplay, had forgotten the education that Sansa had, and so had failed utterly to answer a single history question correctly. 

But this...it was one thing she knew she could do, and oh, how desperately she wanted to!

She could ride.

Robb agreed to allow her to join them, to Theon’s chagrin, and she forgave the slightly condescending tone of his voice, because of her excitement. 

She rushed inside to change, despairing that Sansa seemed to have far too many pretty dresses and not nearly enough riding clothes, but she finally found suitable attire and ran back outside before the young men could leave without her.

She quickly mounted the horse they’d readied for her, touching his muzzle first by way of introduction. 

She rode with them, slightly ahead, enjoying the wind in her hair, and found that she missed Drogon so much it actually hurt. 

She realized the boys were pushing harder now; they’d not simply allowed her to ride ahead of them as she’d thought. 

Oh, no, boys, she thought, her senses alive with excitement. You may trounce me at swords and archery and even history, but you will stay behind me now.

She urged her horse to run faster, and they were in a proper race.

Daenerys felt exhilarated. Was this what it was to have a family? To just...play? If she’d ever beaten Viserys at anything, he’d have beaten her for real. She felt instinctively that these boys would not harm her for beating them. And they weren’t going to make it easy. She could hear them behind her. Robb was the closest and a glance back showed his laughing face.

Suddenly, his face lost its laughter, his eyes widening.

She turned to look forward, and saw a fallen tree, stretched out ahead, still attached by a thick splinter of wood, the break in the trunk too far up; it blocked the path, it was too high...

It’s not too high, she thought defiantly. We can do this. 

She could hear all three young men now, calling her name...well, not her name, Sansa’s really...in varying tones of concern, then anxiety, then panic, in seconds.

Faster, she urged, for momentum. Now, she commanded, with her legs, their pressure, her hands, her body; and the horse jumped, sailing over the wooden barrier, landing hard at the other side, still running. Then he slowed down, turning, as if he too was proud of what he’d just done. 

Daenerys glanced at the three young men, who had stopped riding and were staring at her in dumfounded relief. 

“Where did you learn that?” Robb finally asked. 

She grinned at them. She could hardly tell them that she was the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, that she’d united all the Khalasars into one, a prophesied Khal of Khals. 

That she’d learned to ride a horse as if her life depended on it; that in fact her life had depended on it. That she’d been the first in over a century to ride a dragon.

“Around,” she said. 

They spent the afternoon riding, and returned home hours later, and she felt flushed and happy. 

They began to ready for dinner, and Catelyn came into her room to style her hair.

“King Robert wishes for you and his son Joffrey to be betrothed,” she said, her voice light but anxious.

“No,” Daenerys said firmly. “He’s a vile monster, and I will not marry him.”

Catelyn’s hands stilled for a moment in surprise. “You would be Queen one day,” she said carefully.

“His queen. I’d rather be a...anything.”

“Well...your father hasn’t said yes yet - “

“Good.” She turned to her. “Please convince him to refuse, my lady.”

“My lady?” She laughed a little. 

“Mother,” she corrected, and her throat closed unexpectedly, hurting. 

“Joffrey is handsome,” Catelyn offered weakly.

“Not when you know him.”

“And how do you know him?”

“I won’t marry him. I won’t!”

“All right, sweetling. I’ll talk to your father.”

Daenerys was surprised to see that Catelyn looked relieved, even as she looked concerned.

“You didn’t want me to marry him, did you?”

“I didn’t,” she said, sighing. “Your father would have to leave home. He’d have to leave me. And so would you.” She sighed. “But he must nonetheless. Robert wants him at Kings Landing. And it’s not wise to anger a king. To wound a king’s pride. I don’t want harm to come to my family.”

“Harm will come to all of us if he goes to Kings Landing,” Daenerys said. “I don’t know...exactly what will happen. I mean, how it will happen. But father will die, he will be beheaded. And you’ll die, too, and Robb.”

“Sansa! You mustn’t say such things - “

“It’s the truth. We can stop it. Please, mother. Please talk to him. Don’t let him do this.”

Catelyn sighed. “Enough of that. Marrying a future king is by far not the worst thing that could happen, and - “

“I will not marry him, and if you make me I’ll poison us both.”

“It’s treason to threaten a king’s son, Sansa.”

“Then it’s best for everyone if I am not betrothed to him.”

Ned

Something was very wrong with Sansa.

Catelyn had told him that she would not have Joffrey, and, in a whisper, had murmured that Sansa had said she would kill herself and the prince if they made her.

Sansa had always been a good, obedient young lady. 

Somehow overnight she’d become willful, unable to do her embroidery when it had been one of her great talents, and she was suddenly ignorant of her years of education. 

Stranger still, Septa Mordane had told him that despite the sudden decline in her knowledge of historical details, an almost total ignorance of family sigils, and thinking Jonquil and Florian were actual people, she’d somehow gotten much better at figures.

She kept ranting about dead armies, as if she’d hit her head and become convinced that the Others were real...and she believed she was the exiled Targaryen princess. 

He was concerned, and while a part of him wanted to have her see Maester Luwin and assume it was only a minor injury, or some sickness of youth, it was too unusual for him to ignore; and, she had somehow known about Jon. About his parentage. 

Robb had come in and told him that she’d trounced him and Jon and Theon in a horse race, that she was a better rider than she’d ever been before, and in fact better than Robb himself. 

“She might be the best I’ve ever seen,” he had added. 

Something was wrong.

Robert had asked Ned to be his Hand. Sansa insisted that if he accepted, he would die and his family would be doomed.

In truth, it was the last thing he wanted to do. 

He watched the people at the feast, his eyes returning to his red haired daughter, who he had expected to be attempting to make conversation with Joffrey or laughing with her friends, or approaching the queen to meet her.

Instead, her eyes were fixed on Jon and Benjen, who were conversing at the other side of the Hall.

Suddenly, a large brown chunk of food slapped across her face, and Ned’s eyes shot to Arya, who had thrown the food and was laughing. Catelyn looked at Robb, motioning with her eyes to go get Arya. 

“That’s what we’re doing?” Sansa called to Arya, smiling at her. She caught a large helping of food into her own spoon and hurled it back at her. 

Arya shrieked in delight and was ready to retaliate when Robb found his way to her, scooping her up and throwing Sansa a look. 

“Oh, don’t make her go to bed, it’s just food,” Sansa protested. 

Robb glanced at Catelyn, who gave both girls a stern look. 

At that point, Jon was yelling something at Benjen, and stormed out of the Hall. 

Sansa was watching him leave, then leapt up from her chair and rushed across the room, sitting beside Benjen.

Ned watched them talking. Voices all around him, he could not hope to hear them. But he could see Sansa’s beautiful face, serious as plague, eyes glittering as she spoke to Benjen. Benjen, for his part, seemed to be listening with great interest to what she was telling him, and Ned almost walked over to see what they were saying, particularly when Sansa poured herself some wine. 

After they finished speaking, Sansa stood and walked out of the Hall. Benjen turned then to look at Ned. 

Whatever she had said to him, Ned could see Benjen was perplexed, and they would no doubt talk about it in the morning.

Jon 

Jon had watched Tyrion Lannister walk back toward the feast after they’d spoken, his words still running through his mind, and he could see Sansa, walking outside. She saw Tyrion and gave him a look of pure venom; if she could kill a man with her gaze, the little lion would be bleeding and gutted. 

No doubt Tyrion caught the look.

“Have I offended you, my lady?”

She glared at him, opened her mouth as if to say something, then simply walked past him, her blue eyes fixed on Jon.

She walked up to him, and he expected her to pass him or say something scathing, but she stopped in front of him. 

“You mustn’t go to the Wall, Jon.”

He blinked in surprise. “You were listening to my conversation with Uncle Benjen.”

“Well, you yelled part of it, hard not to listen.” Jon flushed, but Sansa pressed on. “I know it might be good for you, you learned so much, became a great swordsman, and I understand you’re the only one who was willing to get the Free Folk south of the Wall. But - “

“Free Folk?”

She frowned. “Wildlings. I mean wildlings.”

“Wildlings? Why in seven hells would I let them south of the Wall?”

She sighed deeply. “Listen. I don’t trust you. But I know that you’re the only - “

“Don’t trust me?” He demanded, the wine in his blood fueling his anger. 

Her blue eyes were fixed on his. “I don’t. And I never will again. But what you...are capable of...cannot be denied. I’ve spoken to Father about sending Stannis Baratheon a raven, and now I’ve spoken to Uncle Benjen as well. He has a mine of dragonglass and we need it. The Night King will have an army of a hundred thousand if we don’t start acting now.”

“The Night King. Sansa. You sound insane.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Ironic?”

“Jon, you can go to Dragonstone to meet with Lord Stannis. Maybe Uncle Benjen can get leave to go with you. You may be a lying, oathbreaking, kinslaying - “

“I am none of those things,” Jon snapped, angered at her words. It was one thing to be called a bastard, something else to hear accusations of the worst levels of dishonor. 

She just looked at him. Her blue eyes were pained. “Not yet,” she said, and her voice was a whisper. “But it doesn’t matter. You...you were the only one who was truly dedicated to fighting the Night King.”

“When? When was I dedicated to fighting a children’s tale?” He demanded.

“In the future. You went to the Wall and everything fell apart. We have to find a way to get the Free Folk south of the Wall - “

“If you’re still talking about the wildlings, that will never happen.”

“ - and get the dragonglass to make weapons. For the entire North and the Free Folk as well. The Night King will not have a dragon, I will die before I’ll let that happen again - “

“The dragons are all dead”.

“ - but he may still find a way. He could freeze the water at Eastwatch. We have to do this, Jon. You were wrong about a thousand things, and once I get this fixed, we never have to speak again. But you were right about the Great War.”

“The Great War?”

“The war between the living and the dead. You said it was the only war that mattered. And right now, it is.”


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa starts her plan to leave Essos, and sends a message to Daenerys.
> 
> Daenerys is frustrated that Ned is going to Kings Landing despite her warnings, and has a fight with Cat over Jon.

Sansa 

Sansa had managed to convince Jorah Mormont to help her escape, though he tried to warn her that it was dangerous to go to Westeros alone, and he could not go with her, particularly if she intended to go North.

“You have enemies there, Khaleesi,” He warned her. 

She was admittedly nervous. But this man, this Jorah Mormont, had died for Daenerys Targaryen. Surely he wouldn’t harm her. 

She had told him she would kill herself if she had to continue on like this, and he had hastily volunteered to help her. In truth, Sansa wondered how it was that Daenerys hadn’t killed herself.

Sansa reminded herself that she hadn’t killed herself when she’d been Ramsay’s prisoner. But in that she’d had hope for escape. She had told Jon outright that he would never take her back alive.

It didn’t matter, she told herself. Whatever Daenerys had done, Sansa was not going to do it. She didn’t owe these people anything, and the Boltons, the Lannisters, all the monsters that threatened her family, would close their terrible jaws around them and they would be lost.

No, Sansa decided. She would get home and warn them. 

She remembered that Lord Baelish had darkened her hair when they’d gone North, to hide her identity. Surely silver hair would stand out more than her own auburn, she thought, and darkened the snowy tresses to a deep brown. She would keep her violet eyes cast downward and tell everyone she was a bastard Dayne. Hadn’t Daynes sometimes had violet eyes? 

She packed a few things, with Daenerys’ dragon eggs carefully wrapped in clothing. 

She followed Jorah quietly, obediently. At the port, she drafted a message.

Daenerys had best understand that if she harmed her family, there would be consequences.

Daenerys

Her arms ached, and so did her legs, and she was beginning to wonder if she would ever learn the art of sword fighting. 

Arya took to it with much more ease, but the little girl had assured her that it was probably because she’d been trying to learn for a longer time.

Daenerys smiled at her gratefully. She would find herself looking into the girl’s bright little face, marveling that this playful child would save the world one day. 

Archery was much easier for her. She was not as good as Arya yet, but she was getting with better every practice.

She was finding herself feeling strangely content, despite harrowing anxiety over her people in Essos, and the constant fear of White Walkers. She wished Jon remembered too. It would be so much easier for her if she was not alone in this.

Benjen Stark had told her that he was sending a message to the Citadel to see if they had anything to substantiate her claim about the dragonglass. This was less than ideal, because it had been Samwell Tarly who had found dragonglass to be an effective weapon against wights. Daenerys had no idea whether there were any documents that would verify it. 

More frustrating still, Ned had agreed to join Robert at Kings Landing as his Hand.

He’s going to die, she thought. Because he won’t listen.

She wondered why she even cared. What she should be worried about was her own life. Her own people. Not the Starks.

But seeing them together, their affection and concern for each other, made her protective of them.

Even though she knew that these people were incapable of ever being grateful to her for any protection she might give them. She’d learned that in the hardest and most painful way possible. Eventually she would get her own body back, and they would be ready to cut her out like an infection.

It hurt now that she knew them, and she tried to put it aside. 

Ned and Robert had gone hunting, and Daenerys was walking around Winterfell assessing its defenses. 

She saw a movement on the wall, and she looked closer.

“Bran!” She yelled when she saw that the movement was him, scaling the wall.

“Sansa! What are you doing? I thought you’d be practicing needlework.”

“Needlework,” She scoffed, although she had to admit, now that she knew Sansa made most of her own dresses, the woman had talent. “I’m trying to see what our defenses look like.”

“Defenses?” He had climbed down and was studying her, his eyes bright and curious.

He was such a lively boy, she thought, looking into his flushed little face. What had happened?

“You don’t...see?” She asked.

“See what?”

“What’s coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you have visions?”

He laughed. “No.”

She frowned. “Well, you shouldn’t be climbing,” she said, an anxious feeling forming.

Bran was supposed to be joining them on the trip to Kings Landing. Daenerys didn’t know much about the things that had happened to him. But she knew he’d never gone south; which meant that whatever had landed him in a wheelchair must have happened before the trip.

Bran rolled his eyes. “You sound like mother.”

Daenerys felt a wave of panic. If the boy refused to listen to his mother, what would make him listen to her? 

“Bran, I will tell mother if you keep it up.”

“You’re always telling on people,” he grumbled. “This is why no one likes to tell you anything.”

Except Jon, Daenerys thought, bitterness rising like bile in her throat. 

“That may be,” she said, sighing. She hated to upset the child, but she knew that something must have happened, and it would happen soon. “But I...I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me! I’ve been doing this forever. I’m good at it!”

“I’m sure you are, Bran.” 

They walked together. Daenerys wondered if he’d actually fallen or if he’d been pushed. Or if something else entirely had happened. 

It’s not as if the young man with the blank stare had ever talked to her about it. He’d claimed to be able to see everything, everywhere, yet hadn’t warned her about the ambush that had taken Missandei and Rhaegal from her. 

Still, this playful child should not be punished for the offenses against her by his future self; if she were punishing people for their future, she’d have to punish herself for Kings Landing.

He was still angry and pouting at her when they sat down for supper, but seemed to get past it when Catelyn noted it and asked what had happened.

“I offended him,” Daenerys said with a chuckle. 

He grinned at her as Catelyn moved away from them. 

“You didn’t tell,” he said.

“Well, I said I would tell if you didn’t stop. And, you stopped.”

The next morning, she had to sit again with that blasted needlework. Bran was outside practicing at swords with Tommen, so she didn’t feel the overwhelming need to follow him. But she was worried anyway. She wished again that Jon remembered. He could warn them, he would know exactly what had happened to Bran, and when. 

The little princess Myrcella was there as well, and Daenerys thought about Tyrion Lannister again. He had been heartbroken when he’d heard the news that she had been murdered. 

Daenerys had no desire whatsoever to help Tyrion, and even less desire to do anything for Cersei. 

But he’d acknowledged at least that Cersei was evil. Myrcella, he had stated, was innocent. 

Daenerys watched the shy little girl, flushing under Septa Mordane’s extravagant praise of her needlework.

Arya was scowling, and Daenerys couldn’t blame her. The Septa had said some harsh things about Arya’s needlework, and Myrcella’s wasn’t much better, yet was being fawned over.

Still, both girls were doing better than herself. She wondered if she had been raised here, with the love of a family, and a peaceful life, if she would have had enough practice, and could have learned this. Or would it always evade her? She knew how to draw. She was improving at archery. But this was a different skill all together. 

She loved pretty dresses as much as Sansa Stark seemed to, if her wardrobe was any indication, and being able to make her own would be fun.

She sighed.

“It’s not so bad,” Arya said softly, her eyes wary. She did not want to attract the Septa’s attention. There was something like sympathy in her face. 

The girl sitting next to her, a girl who Arya had said was named Jeyne, was staring at her embroidery now.

“Sansa. What happened?” Jeyne asked.

“What happened?” Daenerys repeated. 

Jeyne reached over and picked up another swatch that had been embroidered, handing it to her.

Daenerys stared at it in delighted wonder. The thing was exquisite, the details perfect, complex and lovely. 

“Who did this? You?”

“You,” Jeyne said, staring at her.

Daenerys turned it over in her hands, the back of it showing tiny clipped threads.

“This is it. The whole of her secret, right in my hands.” Daenerys said.

“What secret?” Arya asked, intrigued.

“Patience. Attention to detail. Precision. Do you know how many times she must have had to stab this thing? With a tiny needle, over and over, getting every stitch perfect.”

“You,” Arya said. “You made that.”

Daenerys sighed. “I can’t do this now. But maybe I should try harder to learn.”

“I don’t see what good it does in real life,” Arya said, disappointed. “Or how it’s a secret.”

Daenerys smiled at her. “Well, it takes skill. And patience, attention to detail and precision are good traits to have. That’s how all her enemies died around her without her having to do much at all.”

Arya was staring at her now. “You make needlework sound a lot more interesting than it is.”

Daenerys laughed. “I’m going to try at least to learn.”

Arya gave her a skeptical look, then went back to her own work. 

Later they were walking to the stables to go riding for a bit and Arya turned to her. 

“Are you tricking me to make me work harder on my needlework?”

Daenerys laughed. “No. Tricking you?”

“I’ll try harder. You’ve been doing my things with me, so I’ll try to do your things. It’s just...your embroidery was perfect. And now it’s worse than mine. I thought maybe you were pretending.”

Daenerys shook her head. “Alas, no. I’m truly that terrible at it.”

“You’re better at figures than me.”

“I’m four...two years older than you.”

“Yeah, but I used to be better at figures than you. You’re just suddenly really bad at things you used to be good at. And you’re good at things you used to be bad at.”

“Something happened to me. I can’t really explain it.”

“You’re more fun, now.”

Daenerys laughed again. “Fun is subjective.”

“You’re nicer, too.”

“Well, I didn’t set the bar very high on that.”

Arya started to laugh then as well.

Ned

They were leaving to head south the next morning, and Ned was anxious. He hadn’t wanted to go in the first place, then Catelyn had received a message from her sister, coded, that said that the Lannisters had murdered Jon Arryn. She had said he must go, to find out the truth.

Sansa had insisted that Robert would die, and Ned would be murdered by Joffrey, if they went to Kings Landing.

Benjen had told him that she’d said they should be mining dragonglass because the Others were real and could be fought with it. 

She’d also gotten herself in trouble with Cat over Jon. 

That had been a nightmare that had left his head aching and his heart hurting. 

Cat hadn’t wanted Jon to stay at Winterfell, and Maester Luwin had assured them that Jon wished to go to the Wall.

Ned knew already that Sansa opposed this idea, but he had not expected the storm that followed. 

She had returned from riding with Arya, finding out that Jon was going to the Wall; she’d worn the same look of resigned despair she had when Ned had told her they were going south. She’d said it was a bad idea, and may have left it at that, except for Cat. 

Cat had said it was for the best, that without Ned there she should not have to suffer the presence of a bastard. 

Jon had not even flinched, and Ned ached that he’d failed to protect the boy from this for so long that he was accustomed to it, or at least pretended to be.

But Sansa...sweet, obedient, well behaved Sansa had lost her goddamn mind. 

“What is wrong with you? How could you speak so about a child?” She’d demanded in sudden rage that came upon her like a summer storm.

“I’m not a child,” Jon had said, his pride rising. “And I don’t need you to defend me.”

She’d whirled on him then, her eyes shooting blue flames of fury. “You are a child! And you’ll always be a child! Using a woman to get what you want from her and then abandoning her as if - “

“I’ve never even been with a woman, and you don’t even - “

“Both of you stop this immediately!” Ned had thundered, silencing Jon immediately but drawing the fire of his suddenly defiant and rebellious daughter.

“How could you allow this? He’s your own blood! To subject him to such - “

“Sansa, enough,” Cat had intervened, and all that had done was draw the girl’s fire back to her.

“And you! How could you be so heartless? You’re the closest thing to a mother he’s ever had, and you treat him like garbage for something you know isn’t his fault - “

“She is not my mother!” Jon had jumped in then.

“I didn’t say she was, I said she’s the closest thing - “

“She’s never been a mother to me.”

“And that’s exactly the problem.” And those eyes were back on Cat. “He was a little boy, innocent of any wrongdoing, and you - “

“That is more than enough, Sansa.” Ned had been exhausted at that point. Cat looked angry and heartbroken, and Jon was trying to look indifferent and failing.

“You know what? Fine. Let him throw his life away at the Wall instead of preparing here. Get murdered by his own men - “

“Murdered?”

“And you can go south and get murdered too, and then the entire realm can go to war because of your murder and Roberts brothers can join in against each other - “

“Robert has sons, that will not - “

“And instead of gathering food and weapons and armies to fight the dead and prepare for winter, the whole continent will be a ruin. And that’s before it’s a graveyard, because the Dothraki and Unsullied won’t be here for Jon to use as human shields to protect the North men. If that’s what you want to do. Fine. I don’t even know why I’m trying to warn you.”

She turned abruptly and stormed from the room.

Ned did not know what to make of it. Much of what she’d said was utter nonsense. Robert’s brothers going to war, when Robert had two sons? The Dothraki and Unsullied coming to Westeros? He was thinking of how he might discipline his daughter for her outburst, but by the time he managed to comfort Cat, Sansa had disappeared on her horse, and did not return until supper. 

When she entered the Hall, Cat had approached her to discuss her conduct, and then later, had stated to Ned that three days of being barred from riding would have been ideal but for the fact that they were leaving in the morning. She trusted Ned to come up with a proper discipline.

As they were about to leave the next morning, a messenger arrived carrying two large books, and a scroll; at the request, the Citadel had found quite a bit of writing about the old Northern tales of the Others, and according to the legends, dragonglass would indeed kill them. 

Ned glanced at his family, saying their goodbyes, hugging. Sansa was looking over at him from the destrier she’d claimed as her own, a large black mount she’d started calling “Balerion”. 

He had thanked the messenger and was ready to leave when another message arrived.

It was addressed to Sansa, but he opened it anyway.

“I have your three stone children. I am coming to you. If you harm my family, I will throw these stones into the ocean.”

Ned frowned. He glanced ahead at Sansa, who was talking to Bran and Arya, laughing at something one of them had said. 

The message itself was cryptic enough to give him pause. But what set him on edge was the writing itself. 

Curling and pretty and neat, he would know the hand anywhere. It was Sansa’s.


	5. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should explain myself! I am a tax accountant. And it’s tax season! So my updates will be slower because I pretty much live at work until the end of April. I am so grateful to all of you who read my fics and for your patience! Thank you so much. 
> 
> So in this chapter, the aftermath of the incident with Nymeria and Joffrey goes quite differently, Jon and Benjen go to Dragonstone, and Jon remembers what happened.
> 
> I hope you like it!

Ned

He had not shown Sansa the letter. 

He had no idea how she would react; would she rush off the find the person who’d written it, along with her ‘stone children’? What did that even mean?

He also hadn’t told her yet that Benjen had sent word to Lord Commander Mormont, telling him about the dragonglass and it’s effectiveness against the Others.

“She’s right about the Others,” Benjen had told Ned heavily, just before he’d ridden away from his home. “I hesitated to talk about it. Lord Commander Mormont says there have been sightings. Rangers keep going out and not coming back.”

Ned shivered as he remembered the hysterical words of the condemned man who’d deserted his brothers. 

Benjen was bringing Jon and some other brothers of the Nights Watch to Dragonstone, to ask Lord Stannis for the obsidian and for men. 

Tyrion Lannister had intended to go with them to the Wall, but now they were going to Dragonstone, and the Imp had joined his siblings on the Kings Road. 

Robert had told Ned that Viserys Targaryen had married his sister to a Dothraki warlord, and was beside himself at the thought of the exiled prince bringing the horse to Westeros. He wanted to have her killed before she could get with child.

Ned had tried to talk him down, useless though that was when he was in a fury.

It was terrible enough to contemplate his murdering a child across the sea, but there was another fear within him, that would not abate.

If Sansa was telling the truth, that she wasn’t Sansa, that she was Daenerys Targaryen, then did that mean Sansa, Ned’s tender daughter, was being forced into a marriage with the horselord? If Robert killed her, was it Sansa who would die? 

He was beset with terrible thoughts, and he wondered if he might be going mad to even believe such nonsense.

As they set up camp, he could see her, his daughter or a stranger in her body, talking to some of the men about horses. He thought she was asking questions, but quickly realized she wasn’t; in fact, she was respectful enough, but lecturing them. 

Ned watched them for a few minutes; watched the expression on the men’s faces turn from patronizing annoyance to surprise, then to respect. 

They nodded at her as she walked away, Lady in tow. Joffrey approached her, inviting her to walk with him, and she shook her head, saying she had some other obligation. 

That “obligation” had turned out to be riding off on Balerion, and the rest of the day passed without incident...until that night. 

Sansa hadn’t returned for hours, coming back tousled and windblown, looking happy. 

Bran and Arya were still not back.

Joffrey had been brought back by his men. Carried, truly, sobbing like a baby, his pants suspiciously wet. 

His arm was drenched in blood, and when he was finished being treated, sobbing and shrieking, Bran had returned to the camp, looking scared. He told Ned that Arya had been practicing at swords with Mycah, the butcher’s boy. Hitting each other with sticks, harmless really.

Joffrey had shown up and attacked Mycah. Arya had in turn attacked Joffrey. Joffrey had attacked her then “with his SWORD”, Bran had said. Bran picked up a stick to hit Joffrey, to protect Arya, but then Nymeria rushed over and bit his arm, while Summer growled fiercely at him.

Now Arya was missing, as were Summer and Nymeria. Ned sent his men out, but they had no luck finding Arya or the wolves.

“I could look for her,” Sansa had offered.

“Our men have been looking for hours.”

“Our men have never been a scared little girl. They wouldn’t know how to look.”

“I can’t have you both missing, Sansa.”

He’d have loved to have Arya simply return, but instead Sansa mounted her black horse, and disappeared as well. 

Ned was tired and worried sick. He was glad his daughters were finally getting along, but gods, did that mean they both had to be rebellious? 

But Sansa returned an hour later with Arya, to Ned’s immense relief, then Robert demanded all the children appear before him. 

This had only led to Bran and Arya both yelling that Joffrey was a liar, and Joffrey yelling that they were the liars.

Robert was willing to let it go, ordering that Ned discipline his own children and Robert would do the same, but Cersei demanded the wolf be killed. 

“The wolves are missing.”

“There’s still one here, isn’t there?” Cersei asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Bran and Arya immediately began to argue. 

“Lady wasn’t even there!”

“Sansa wasn’t even there!”

Ned looked at Sansa, waiting for her to argue, to cry, anything; she stood still, her eyes boring into him like blue knives; then he realized, she wasn’t quite...still. She was coiled. 

“Sansa,” he began, and she sprang, running from the tent, dodging around the hands that attempted to stop her.

He ran after her, but she stopped in front of Lady’s kennel. 

“I will not let you do this. You’ll have to kill me too,” she snarled at him. Bran and Arya rushed over, standing on either side of her.

“Sansa - “

“I told you! I told you we weren’t safe here!” 

“I’m sorry, Sansa, but - “ 

“You aren’t sorry,” she growled at him. “You’ll keep following Robert and supporting him until it’s our undoing.”

She kicked at the kennel, opening the gate, and hissed something, some command, at Lady; it was Valyrian, Ned realized. Lady, ever the obedient wolf, shot out of her kennel and ran across the grounds, too fast for anyone to catch her, and disappeared into the woods.

Ned stared after her in shock, then sighed. “You’ve made your point, Sansa,” he said wearily. “And you’ve achieved your aim. All three of you, get to bed.”

He was weary. He was debating whether to tell Robert what had happened, when Robert stormed over to him, face red with one of his rages, demanding he come to his tent. 

“I’ve received a raven, Ned,” he said, once they were inside. “She’s on her way to Westeros.”

“Who?”

“The Targaryen whore. Varys got the information from Jorah Mormont. She left the Dothraki horselord and she’s on her way here.”

Ned felt suddenly sick to his stomach. Why? Why would the girl come here? Unless...

I am coming to you, the letter to Sansa had said. 

“She needs to die,” Robert thundered.

Ned looked at him sadly. He removed his Hand pin and placed it in front of him.

“You shame yourself with this, Robert. I will have no part in it.”

He turned and walked out of the tent, Robert screaming obscenities behind him.

He instructed his men to ready the horses and gather their belongings.

He approached the tent where his children were theoretically sleeping, but was not surprised to see them wide awake. 

“Get dressed,” he told them. “We’re going home.”

Daenerys 

Daenerys hurried, helping Bran and Arya get their own things together as well as her own. She wanted them out before Ned could change his mind. 

Within an hour, they were riding through the dark woods along the Kings Road. She didn’t know what had happened. But Ned looked sad and a little sick. She knew he was watching her, so there was little chance she could slip away unnoticed; her plan would have to wait. 

She rode toward him so that she was by his side.

“What happened?”

He glanced at her. “There’s something I should tell you. You received a letter some time back. It was in your own writing.” Daenerys looked at him sharply, but he continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “I didn’t know what to make of it. But you were right about the Others. You were right about the dragonglass. You knew about Jon. I can’t help now but to believe that something must have happened, for you to know these things.”

“What did the letter say?”

He sighed. “It was your writing,” he repeated. 

“What did she say?” Daenerys repeated.

“She’s coming to you. She has your stone children.”

“Coming to me?” Daenerys was suddenly outraged. Was she out of her mind? How could she possibly think that was a good idea?

“Robert just told me Daenerys Targaryen left her husband and is coming to Westeros,” Ned added.

“How does he know?”

“His spymaster Varys told him. Jorah Mormont is reporting information about her to Varys.”

Daenerys felt heartsick. Of course. Her knight, the man who had been her dearest friend and who had died protecting her, had been spying on her when he’d first entered her service. She cursed Sansa and herself. If they’d become close enough to confide in each other, Sansa would know better than to trust Jorah this early on.

“She should have known better than to come to Westeros,” she finally said.

“What are stone children?”

“My dragon eggs. Maybe she’s bringing them. I hope she brings them instead of selling them.”

“The letter said that if you hurt her family she’ll throw them into the sea.”

Daenerys shook her head. “Forgive me for saying this, I know you love her. But she has to be the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”

“Because she threatened you?”

“Because...to begin with, she should know very well I wouldn’t hurt any of you. But I suppose that’s an understandable suspicion. Considering all she and Jon did to me.”

“What did they do to you?”

“But I have no trouble believing she would throw my eggs into the ocean. And yet she could sell them and live a lifetime on what she’d make from them. But, no. She’d rather have them at the bottom of the sea. Her spite is boundless.”

“What did they do to you?” Ned repeated.

She sighed. “It hasn’t happened yet.” She looked at him again. “I’m not going to try to hurt any of you. Whatever my anger, I don’t want to see you harmed. This will sound strange...but Arya told me that you like to eat with your men. That you told Robb you should know the men who serve you. You shouldn’t ask them to fight for a stranger. It’s one of the things I’ve been thinking about. My entire life would have been different if I’d had a father like you, instead of my own.”

“If you speak true, and you’re Daenerys Targaryen, I truly am sorry for what you went through. You were an innocent babe. You didn’t deserve that. I wish I could have helped.”

Daenerys felt hot tears sting her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Stark,” she said, forcing her voice not to break.

“While you’re here, in my daughter’s body, it’s better if you call me father. If you would. Once we find where Sansa is, we’ll get her home, and I’ll try to find someone...some magical person...who can switch you back. And then, if you’re willing, we’ll invent some name for you, and you’ll stay with us. I promise I’ll protect you as I would my own.”

Daenerys swallowed the hard, aching lump in her throat. She would eventually have to find her way back to Essos. She had to get Missandei and Grey Worn and all her people free. But for now, she would be grateful for his offer. 

“Thank you, Lord...father”.

Jon 

Dragonstone was familiar.

Jon couldn’t figure out why; he knew he’d never been here before, and yet...

He’d expected to see dragons flying over it. Like a memory, but it must have been a dream.

Three dragons, he’d expected. Then he expected that there would be two, and with that a sense of shame came over him.

My fault, he thought. It was my fault. Stupid plan...

Then only one. And a strange grief took hold of him. A sense of loss, and the memory of a green dragon. A dragon he’d ridden...near Winterfell...

He was mostly able to ignore the strange memory, the half remembered dream. But vestiges of it would hit him unexpectedly.

Stannis Baratheon looked sternly at Uncle Benjen, assessing whether he was lying in the hopes of obtaining then selling the obsidian he requested, or simply mad.

His wife gave them a cold look, but her priestess intervened fortunately, a woman wearing red who looked piercingly at Jon. 

“You’re starting early this time,” she told him. 

Her name was Melisandre. She said she saw him in “the flames”.

He went to work mining the dragonglass and wondered if he were losing his mind like Sansa. 

But was she really losing her mind? She’d been right about the things she’d said.

She called me a kinslayer, he reminded himself. There was nothing worse than a kinslayer. Even the gods hated a kinslayer.

Jon was assaulted again by the odd foreboding whisper of memory when he followed Uncle Benjen to speak with Lord Stannis in his map room.

Jon had heard of the famous painted table but he’d never seen it. But in his mind’s eye he could see the room as if he’d been there, and as he mused on that, they walked through the throne room and Jon glanced at the throne. He stopped walking. Consciously he knew no one was there. 

But on the throne, for a second, he thought he saw a woman. A small woman of unsurpassed beauty, and overwhelming presence. And a pain shot through him, unlike anything he’d ever known. 

She’s gone, he thought wildly. She’s gone and it’s my fault.

He tried not to think too much on why the room with the painted table looked exactly as it had in his mind.

He may have gone on thinking it was a madness, or a dream that meant nothing. 

But then...then he’d had a dream that he knew wasn’t a dream. 

Blood and war, an army of dead, a burned city, betrayal, betrayal, betrayal...the news coming to him that Westeros was dead. Burned, gutted, one end of the empire to the other. Dead. Everyone, all over the Kingdoms. All the irretrievable glory of an empire, only ashes and bones.

Because of him. His own death almost meaningless to him. Meaningless because he’d killed her. Her...

Jon woke with rage and grief and despair. 

He was confused for a moment. Dragonstone? 

Was he at Dragonstone? For a moment he thought it was a dream (it was a dream, wasn’t it?) but where was Daenerys?

Then he looked around, dazed, remembering that he was at Dragonstone with Uncle Benjen and...Uncle Benjen! 

He rushed out of his room to the Hall where his uncle was breaking his fast.

The last time I saw you, you gave me your horse and rushed into a horde of dead...

He ran to him, throwing his arms around him. Alive, alive, alive.

Father...Uncle, truly...was still alive. Robb was still alive. Rickon too, and Bran...it was too late to save him from that fall...he frowned. Bran hadn’t fallen. He’d gone south with Father.

Jon sat down, and Uncle Benjen, who had returned his embrace, was staring at him.

“Are you all right?”

“We have to convince father to go back to Winterfell. He mustn’t go to Kings Landing.”

Uncle Benjen chuckled. “You sound like Sansa now.”

Sansa...fury consumed him. She’d broken her vow to him. 

He tried to force down his rage, and then it was swallowed by shame. He should not have told her.

Please don’t do this...Daenerys’ voice pleaded in his head.

“Are you well?” Uncle Benjen asked.

“I’m well. We have to find them. They have to go back to Winterfell and stay there.”

Uncle Benjen was looking at him curiously, frowning. 

“Your sister Sansa said the same thing.”

Jon nodded. It must have happened to her, too. The remembering. 

“She’s right,” he said, and felt the anger pulsing at his temples again. She’d broken her word to him. 

She called me a kinslayer! As if that wasn’t what she wanted. For Daenerys to die, so Sansa could be made queen.

“It might be a little impolite to leave, now we’ve convinced Lord Stannis to give us the dragonglass,” Uncle Benjen pointed out.

“We have to,” Jon insisted. “If Father goes to King’s Landing he will die.”

Uncle Benjen’s expression was dark. “Sansa said that, too.”

“Aye, and it’s the truth.”

Uncle Benjen nodded. “I’ll talk to Lord Stannis.”

A few hours later, Uncle Benjen came to him, looking pale. “They are already on their way back to Winterfell. Stannis received a raven from Robert. Go get your things. We’re leaving in an hour.”

Daenerys 

It was an hour or two before dawn. Daenerys knew she had little time before she would be discovered missing from the camp. She knew precious little about wolves. But she knew these wolves, the direwolves she’d spent so much time with in the last moon. And Lady...she’d grown to love her, even knowing one day she would have to surrender her to Sansa. 

She had started to care much more than she liked about the Stark family. She hated to admit it, but she loved Arya, truly loved her. And she respected Ned despite herself. She ignored the sadness creeping up on her. She had to focus.

She had been calling for the last quarter of an hour, and was starting to despair of finding the wolves, when she heard the rustling of leaves. She turned and saw a large man approaching her, three more beside him. 

Her heart froze in her chest. 

Fuck, she thought. She knew she wasn’t a strong enough fighter to ward off even one attacker, and her dragons were still petrified stones at the other side of the sea.

Balerion whinnied under her, and took a step back. 

“Hello there, Lady,” the big one said, grinning. 

“I’ll be on my way,” she told him, forcing calm she was far from feeling into her voice.

“Not so soon, we’ve barely gotten a look at you.”

She started to urge her horse to move, but the man caught the reins.

“You need to leave me alone. Right now. My family is here.”

“Seems to me, your family is gone,” he said, and his hand started to rest on her leg; then he froze, his eyes going wide, looking past her. He took his hand off her leg, backing up, and Daenerys turned to see what had terrified him; and almost wept with relief. 

Lady, Nymeria and Summer had found each other, and now they’d found her; they were growling fiercely at the men. They rushed toward them, and the men turned and ran. 

“Good wolves,” she told them when they returned to her. “Come on, we’re going home.”


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been awhile! I hope everyone is keeping safe and well! Thank you all who have read this, and who are still following it!

Ned 

He was going to have to speak with Sansa - or Daenerys, he reminded himself. Daughter or not, princess or not, the girl had to start listening. Anxiety was knotting his stomach as he watched his men ride off to find her. 

“Where’s Sansa?” Arya’s voice cut into his thoughts, and he turned to see her and Bran standing behind him, looking as concerned as he felt. 

“She’s gone riding again,” he said, sighing. He was about to say more, to warn Bran and Arya that she would be disciplined, that if they began acting so willful as to disappear from camp in the night, they too would be disciplined. Sansa had always been so obedient. And she and Arya had always had trouble between them. He never would have thought to worry that Sansa’s behavior would influence Arya or Bran in a negative way. 

“When she she gets back here -“ but he was cut off by Arya’s sudden shriek; her face and Bran’s had suddenly lit up in such joy and excitement, he turned back to see...

Sansa had returned on her destrier, and with her, Lady, Summer, and Nymeria. Bran and Arya looked up at Ned for permission, and at his nod, they both ran to their wolves, hugging them tightly. He approached as well. 

“I must speak to you, Sansa. Now.” 

At his tone, Sansa looked somewhat contrite, at least. She dismounted and allowed the men to take Balerion, following Ned meekly into his tent. 

“I know you’re angry,” she began. 

“I was worried. You cannot keep defying me. It sets a terrible example for your brother and sister. And what if you’d been killed?” 

She nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Too easy, Ned thought. This was an extremely headstrong young woman, clearly accustomed to commanding people. 

Her immediate agreement made him suspicious. “Is there something else I should know?” 

She sighed. “I’ve been thinking about this, actually. You know now I’m not your daughter. You’ve been kind to me. Given me a horse.”

“You rather demanded a horse of your own, if I remember.”

“I said please,” she said, and he chuckled, but the serious expression on her face sobered him. “I should be doing something to earn my keep here,” she continued. “I’ve been eating your food and riding your horse -“

“He’s your horse now.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I’m not so sure about that. It seems that if you’d not stepped in, Lady would be dead and Summer and Nymeria missing. If what you say is true, I’d be riding toward my death right now.”

“I’d like to earn my keep,” she repeated. 

Ned sighed. “It’s as I’ve said. You’ve suffered terribly for one so young. And I had a hand in it, by supporting Robert. What I want from you is to accept the education I’m offering you. To follow my rules and not disappear in the night so we all have to wonder if you’ll be killed. I’ve given you my word that even when you’ve returned to your own body, I will protect you as my own.”

“I appreciate that,” she said. Ned could hear a thickness in her voice, as if she might cry. “But you may wish to take that back once you know what I have to tell you.”

“I don’t go back on my word,” Ned told her.

“Then I release you from it. You made that promise before you had all the information and should not be held to it.” 

“What is it you wish me to know?”

“I told you I’ve seen the future.”

“Yes.”

“I burned down Kings Landing.”

“The cost of war is always -“

“I had won. The city surrendered. Or at least they would have me believe they had. But I’d lost everything. I destroyed the city. On my dragon. Targeted innocents. Civilians.” 

He stared at her in horror. “Why?” 

She shook her head, her expression haunted. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to understand...I had never harmed innocents before. Never. I betrayed everything I’d always stood for.”

“You regret it.”

She nodded. “I dream of it sometimes. I hear the screams and it’s...” she broke off with a shudder. 

“I can’t defend such an action,” he said firmly, and she nodded, staring glassily at the floor. 

“I can’t either,” she said softly.

“We’ll talk about this again. We’ll take steps to ensure this doesn’t happen again. Your father, he wasn’t always mad. You understand, sometimes terrible things happen. We can’t just attack innocents.”

She nodded miserably. “I know.”

“Now let me renew my promise to you. I will protect you, as I would my own.” She looked up at him in surprise, but he held up a hand. “But,” he began and she grinned suddenly through the tears that shimmered in her eyes.

“Didn’t you always say everything that comes before the ‘but’ is horseshit?” 

He laughed despite himself. “I have said that. I will keep my promise to you, but I need you to make me a promise as well.”

“All right.”

“You must obey my rules as my children do. Now as you know by now, they often find ways to disobey, and no doubt you will too. But try. I can’t have you wandering off in the night. And for the love of the gods, no burning cities.” 

She nodded. “I promise,” she said. 

“Good. Now try to eat something. We’re leaving in an hour, and I doubt you got much sleep last night.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice thick again. 

He watched as she walked across camp. Bran and Arya rushed to her, hugging her and thanking her for finding their wolves. 

Ned could see the wolves surrounding them, and he smiled. He could still see in the dark corners of his mind, the dead Targaryen children. Little Aegon and Rhaenys. 

Maybe if he could help Daenerys, he could somehow make up for...but no. There was no washing that blood away. And even if their blood was not on his hands, the girl was right. He’d supported Robert, knowing what he’d done, what he’d allowed. Had hidden Jon’s identity to protect him from Robert’s wrath. 

He loved Robert. His friend, a brother in arms and in his heart. 

He had broken off that friendship after the Targaryen children’s murders. But they’d grown close again in shared grief at the loss of Lyanna. 

He mourned their friendship now, as he could not say whether it would be revived this time. But he’d given his word he would protect this girl, and that he would. 

Jon 

The ship was moving quickly, the winds kind and fair, but Jon could only focus on two things: the Night King, and Daenerys. He knew he would soon see his family again, the family he’d lost. To think, they were all alive! 

Stannis and his priestess had joined them on the trip, along with Ser Davos. Jon remembered them now, and wondered why they didn’t remember too; he suspected Melisandre might. She was watching him intensely. 

He sat with them in the ship’s galley, and half listened as Stannis told Uncle Benjen about the falling out between father and Robert Baratheon. 

He was about to excuse himself when Stannis said that Daenerys Targaryen was expected to arrive at White Harbor within the next two moons. 

“Daenerys Targaryen? Coming to Westeros? _Now?_ ” Jon demanded. 

“My brother received the news a few days ago. He and your father fell out over it. Robert wants her dead obviously, and your father said he would have no part in it.” 

Jon was shaking now. He took a deep breath to steady himself. It would not do to start threatening Stannis Baratheon. He curled his hands into fists. He could not imagine why Daenerys would come to Westeros now. Her dragons had to be babies, if they’d been born yet at all. She must not have an army yet. And she couldn’t possibly wish any of them well. 

One thing was for certain, whatever her plans were; he would not allow anyone to harm her. He had betrayed her and broken her and killed her; and she had saved him. Saved all of them, really. If she hadn’t joined the fight against the dead, they’d have been overrun. 

Jon had spent so long trying to gather people together...as Mance Rayder had before him. 

_Mance Rayder is still alive..._

Was Mance uniting the warring tribes? Of course, he must be.

But in the Seven Kingdoms, the only leaders who had ever listened to the warnings had been Stannis and Daenerys. 

And Daenerys alone had agreed to put aside her own goals to help him fight the dead. 

But perhaps if Stannis had beaten Ramsay Bolton, he’d have come back. 

Jon himself had fought Ramsay Bolton to take back Winterfell. But he had to. They had to be united against the Night King. 

But now...they could begin sooner. And would anyone listen? 

And was Daenerys coming back for revenge? 

She had no armies yet, no dragons. 

If she was coming for revenge, Jon thought, she would have it. She alone had sworn her armies to his cause the moment she saw that the danger was real. She’d had no way to know if Jon’s request for help from beyond the Wall was a trap, but she’d come anyway to rescue them. 

He would never forget that day, that moment. Surrounded by the dead, no hope for survival, and then fire had rained from the sky, blasting thousands of wights to ash. She had landed beside them, reached her hand out to him to help him up. And then on the ship, she had sworn herself, her armies, her dragons, to his cause. 

No, no one would hurt her. No one would harm a hair on her head, as long as he was breathing. He looked at Melisandre, who watched him with a faint smile. 

“Not all is as it seems, Jon Snow,” she told him. 

He nodded and left the hall, his mind racing. 

He would get to father first. _Uncle Ned_ , he reminded himself. Tell him everything. Surely he would understand. He must. 

Arya 

The morning had been full of joy, now their wolves had returned. 

She and Bran had spent some time playing with them, and she was so happy to have Nymeria back she’d only thought about that.

Now though, an unpleasant nagging had started in her head, a vague sense of guilt. After father had spoken to Sansa, she’d left his tent and Arya could see she’d been crying. Father had caught Arya with Needle, and had allowed her to keep it, promising that he would have someone come teach her how to use it. She had asked if Sansa could learn with her as well, and father had agreed. 

Arya wanted to tell her, but Jeyne had caught her first, accusing her of avoiding her. Arya listened to them, and Sansa had promised Jeyne she would come to her tent for tea once they stopped for their midday meal.

Arya didn’t hate Jeyne, but she didn’t like her, either. Still, she had told Sansa she would try to do the things she enjoyed, since she’d been doing all Arya’s favorite things with her. 

They had finally stopped riding, and Father was talking to his men about stopping by White Harbor, as Jon and Uncle Benjen were sailing there. 

Arya walked to the tent where she knew Sansa was getting ready for the tea, dragging her feet. 

When she entered, Sansa was sitting down, looking all but helpless, amid her dresses. She smiled faintly when Arya entered, with a welcoming gesture to sit. 

“Are you all right?” Arya asked.

“Yes...are there rules? For tea?”

Arya stifled a laugh. “You don’t remember how to drink tea?”

“I remember how to drink it, just...” she sighed. “What do we do? Is there a...a ritual to it?” 

“Not that I know. You sit with Jeyne and talk about boys and clothes and hair. You do your hair up all fancy and put on a pretty dress, and just...I don’t know. Talk about things. Sometimes you and she...” Arya hesitated. “You say mean things about...” _me,_ she thought. “...other girls,” she finished.

Sansa frowned, then her face cleared. “Well, she’s young yet...we. We’re young.” She sighed, then brightened. “Well, if it’s just putting on a pretty dress and doing my hair fancy, I can do that.” 

She sorted through her dresses, offering Arya another smile. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Arya squirmed. “I know I promised I’d do your things with you...”

“You don’t have to,” Sansa assured her. “I’d love to have you there but I won’t be angry if you’d prefer not to.” 

Arya watched Sansa loosen her long fiery braid, shaking her hair out, then she began to part it into sections, making a small braid, then another, then another, weaving the braids into each other. 

“I could braid yours next if you want,” she offered. 

Arya shrugged. “All right.” 

Sansa flashed another smile at her. “Dothraki warlords wear a braid. They cut it only if they’re defeated. The longer the braid, the fiercer the warrior.” 

Arya stared at her. “You’re making that up.”

Sansa laughed. “No, I’m not! It’s the truth.” 

Arya remembered that day they’d sat with the Septa, doing their embroidery. 

_The whole of her secret, right in my hands...it’s how all her enemies died around her..._

“You make things sound a lot better than they are,” Arya said again, and Sansa laughed. 

“What things?” she asked.

“Embroidery and hair and all that.”

“As you may have noticed, I’m shit at embroidery,” Sansa said, and Arya laughed. 

“You used to be the best. You’re still good at hair,” she added, watching Sansa’s hands deftly intertwine the braids into a complicated ring at the top of her head, while the lower half of her hair swept in coppery waves down her back. “And you’re good at other things now. Like riding. Robb said you’re better than him on a horse now. You’re getting better at fighting. Father...” she hesitated. “Father found my sword,” she said carefully. She would not tell her about Jon giving her the sword. She’d promised. And she would never betray Jon, not for anyone. She hadn’t told Father and she wouldn’t tell Sansa.

Sansa had turned to her and started in on her hair, so she had no choice really but to sit down and let her work. 

“You mean Needle?” Sansa asked, and Arya turned to her sharply. “Isn’t that your sword’s name?” She asked.

“How do you know that?” Arya demanded. 

“Jon told me,” she said. 

“Jon? Jon told you about Needle?” 

Sansa looked confused, as if she’d suddenly realized something. A shadow crossed her face, gone in an instant. But in that instant, there had been hurt and bitterness the like of which Arya had never seen. 

Her hands had frozen, but then she went back to making braids in the hair she’d sectioned, Arya could feel the tension in Sansa’s hands against her head. 

“Doesn’t he tell me everything?” Sansa asked.

“No. You...well, you used to be really the worst with secrets.”

“Right,” Sansa said faintly. “That’s right. Father mentioned that.”

Arya sat in silence now as Sansa finished her hair. She knew something she’d said had hurt Sansa, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. 

“I’m sorry I said you’re bad with secrets,” she finally murmured. 

Sansa laughed lightly. “I am, apparently. It’s all right.” 

“Anyway, father found Needle and promised he’d have someone come teach me, really teach me. He’ll teach you too, if you want.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Sansa said, then stepped back. “There.” 

Arya glanced in the mirror and started; she looked pretty, the top of her hair in a complicated kind of coronet, the bottom falling to her shoulders.

“Do you want to borrow a dress? I’m sure we could -“

“No,” Arya said quickly. “Thank you.” 

They walked to where Jeyne had set up tea, and sat down.

Jeyne poured them tea, and glanced at Sansa. “I love what you did with your hair,” she said. “Where did you learn to do that?” 

Sansa’s eyes briefly flashed, as if remembering something that hurt; then she gave a faint smile, thanking Jeyne but not answering the question.

“You must be disappointed about ending the betrothal to Joffrey,” Jeyne added.

“No,” Sansa said. 

“Joffrey is a liar, he’s not a good person and he’ll be a terrible king,” Arya said. 

“But she would be his queen,” Jeyne argued. 

“I’d rather die,” Sansa said bluntly, and that ended the conversation about Joffrey. 

“Lord Tyrion joined our party,” Jeyne added. 

Arya’s eyes widened. “The imp! I didn’t get to meet him.”

“Why?” Sansa demanded. 

“He’s meeting Lord Stannis at White Harbor. I saw him talking to your father.” 

“Why is Lord Stannis at White Harbor?” 

“He left Dragonstone with your brother and uncle. I don’t know why.”

Sansa frowned, lost in her own thoughts. 

“Sansa, what is wrong with you?” Jeyne finally asked, abandoning all pretense of other conversation. “You’re terrible at embroidery all of a sudden -“

“She’s not terrible!” Arya said defensively.

“You used to make the most gorgeous work of any of us. Now you’re worse than Arya Horseface. You -“

“Don’t call her that!” Sansa snapped then, her eyes lighting in sudden fury. 

“I just -“

“Apologize to her! Right now! And don’t ever call her that again!”

Jeyne stared at Sansa, then turned to Arya. “I’m sorry,” she said. 

Arya nodded, accepting the apology, but a lump had formed in her throat. 

“You’re just not _you_ anymore,” Jeyne said carefully after a moment of stunned silence. “You only ever want to do boy things -“

“Boy things?”

“Fighting and riding and -“

“Why are they boy things?”

“Men are warriors. Women -“

“There are woman warriors.”

Jeyne sighed. “I feel like we’re not even friends anymore,” she said in a small voice. 

At that, Sansa’s face softened. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to leave you out of things. But the dead are coming -“

“Gods, this again?”

“They are! They -“ 

“It’s just a story, Sansa. Dead men and ice spiders and -“

“Ice spiders?”

“A hero who will rise up, and he’ll kill the Great Other -“ 

“She,” Sansa corrected. 

“She?”

“It’s a woman who kills the Great Other, as you call him.” Sansa frowned. “It was. I hope I haven’t ruined everything by interceding. If she never -“

“You sound completely mad,” Jeyne said, frustrated. 

“Madness. Always madness,” Sansa said softly. “The truth always looks like madness to people who don’t know the truth.”

Jeyne looked at her helplessly. “I just can’t figure out what happened to you.”

“I can’t either,” Sansa said. She drank her tea. “I’ll try to be a better friend, Jeyne. But you can’t talk to Arya like that, and you have to understand that it’s going to get colder and colder and the dead WILL be here.”

After the tea, Arya walked with Sansa to ready themselves for more riding. 

“Something did happen,” Arya said. “You are different. Are you all right?”

“I think so.”

“It’s really a woman who kills the Great Other?”

Sansa glanced at her and smiled. “It certainly is.” The smile disappeared. “Unless I’ve ruined everything. Some people say everything happens for a reason.”

“You didn’t ruin anything. You saved our wolves.” Sansa nodded but didn’t answer. “You used to call me Arya Horseface too,” she added softly. 

Sansa stopped walking and looked into her face. “I’m sorry, Arya. Listen, this is important. I...you’re right, something did happen to me. I can’t explain it. But one day, I’ll be...more myself again. I’ll be able to embroider and I won’t be all that interested in physical fighting. I won’t ride as well but I’ll be good at politics.”

“Politics?” Arya wrinkled her nose in distaste. 

“But I am confident in this: I’ll never call you that again. I’ll stand up for you, always. I can’t say anything else about...the kind of person I am. And it’s best I don’t. But one thing I can say for certain is that I will be loyal to you.”

Arya wrapped her arms around Sansa, hugging her tightly. 

As they mounted their horses, Arya thought Sansa looked sad. But when she caught her gaze, Sansa smiled at her; but then Sansa’s eyes fell on Tyrion Lannister, who was riding beside father, and her entire expression turned cold. 

Lord Tyrion saw both of them looking, and smiled. “Hello,” he greeted them, but Sansa rode on, without another glance. 

Sansa

She had not been able to relax until the ship began to move; Khal Drogo had barely noticed her existence during the day, but at night she knew he would find her gone and would be angry. She didn’t know whether he’d be angry enough to try to find her, but she did know he would be unlikely to cross the sea to come for her. Jorah had told her the Dothraki word for the sea was “poison water.” That since their horses wouldn’t drink it, they considered it evil. She wondered again how Daenerys had convinced them to cross it for her. How she had come to command them.

It didn’t matter, Sansa told herself. She’d managed to find out the year and moon; mother was still alive. As was Robb, and Rickon...even father, most likely. Her chest ached because she knew Lady was already gone, and Father would be too, before she made it back to Westeros. 

She had to hope they were all still alive. That Daenerys had received her missive and would not risk harming Sansa’s family. Not if it risked the safety of her dragon eggs. 

Jorah had purchased a cabin for each of them. He would be getting food for them now, and Sansa felt her stomach growl in hunger. When the door opened, she looked up eagerly, then froze. 

It was Viserys. He closed the door behind him, swinging the latch. 

“Hello, sweet sister.”

Sansa opened her mouth to scream, but Viserys was across the room in a flash, throwing her across the bed, and slapping her, hard, across the face. 

His hand closed into a fist into her hair, holding her down under his weight. He tore at her dress, exposing her breasts, and terror pumped through her. 

_No, no no...not again_ , her mind raced as his hand gripped her breast. She reached in sheer desperation for something, anything, her hand closing around a small lantern and bringing it to crash against Viserys’ head with all her strength. 

He toppled off the bed and lay unmoving on the floor. 

Sansa sat up, staring at him in horror. 

_I’ve killed him,_ she thought wildly. _I’ve killed her brother. Now she’ll..._ but how would she know? Hadn’t Viserys died anyway? 

How could she possibly love a brother who treated her the way Viserys did? 

But then, she must. She’d named one of her dragons after him. Just as she’d named her biggest, the one she rode, after a husband who raped her. 

A knocking at the door made her jump, and she made her way toward it, adjusting her dress to cover herself.

“Who’s there?” She called.

“It’s Jorah, Khaleesi. I have our supper.”

She opened the door. “Don’t call me Khaleesi,” she said, and started to tell him what had happened, when he saw Viserys. 

“Are you all right?” He demanded, searching her for injury.

She nodded, and watched as Jorah bent over Viserys, checking for a pulse. He lifted him, sitting him in a chair and tying his wrists together with rope. 

Jorah sat down across from Sansa, and began eating. “You should eat something,” he advised. “Are you hurt?” He repeated.

“No,” Sansa said shivering. “He’s alive?” 

“He is. And I...you are not going to like what I have to say.”

“All right. Go on.”

“I was hired by King Robert’s spymaster. I’ve been reporting your movements.” 

Sansa stared at him numbly. “You...” Sansa’s mouth went dry. Seven hells, was there no one she could trust? This man had _died_ defending Daenerys. Had he betrayed her too in the beginning? Or was the betrayal by supposed friends simply Sansa’s lot in life? 

“Robert Baratheon knows you’re coming to Westeros.”

Sansa’s chest was tight with anger and terror. Robert would kill her...wouldn’t he? Would father stand up for her? Put his family at risk? 

He wouldn’t know she was his daughter, and Daenerys certainly wouldn’t tell him. She would likely do all in her power to see Sansa dead. 

She shuddered. “You betrayed me,” she finally said. 

“I...” he sighed. “I did. I’m sorry. I know you must be angry with me. I was hoping to find a way around it, but -“

“Find a way around it?”

“It was never a good idea to sail to Westeros, Khaleesi - I mean...Daenerys. You have no army. But when you said you would kill yourself I panicked. You’re set on going North, and Ned Stark wants my head. I can only join you if I am able to get a pardon. The pardon would have been for bringing you to Robert.”

Sansa glared at him. “So you’d have used me as a - “

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I could do it. And it may not come to it...your brother...he sold you. He hurt you. What if we gave him to Robert instead?”

Sansa closed her eyes. 

What would Daenerys do if Sansa sold her brother to Robert? She might be longing for him as much as Sansa herself longed for her own family. 

“Let me think about it,” she finally said. 

Jorah nodded and finished his supper. 

Sansa would have to speak to Viserys when he woke. Find out if there was any love between them. 

Daenerys had been in the position Sansa had woken up to; and had somehow come from being essentially a sex slave of Khal Drogo, to commanding every khalasar as her own. She’d turned her stone eggs into breathing dragons. 

In Sansa’s life, many had underestimated her. And every one of them had died. Sansa knew well it was a grave mistake to underestimate an enemy. 

Sansa would not risk her family’s safety by forfeiting Daenerys’ brother, unless she determined that there couldn’t be love between them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter but I figured I may as well post it. Thank you all who are still reading this, and for all your comments and kudos. I hope you are all doing well!

Ned

The trip to White Harbor went smoothly and without incident. Ned had sent a raven to Catelyn that he would be meeting up with Jon and Benjen, then heading back to Winterfell. He’d also sent word to Lord Manderly, who had sent men to greet them, and who assured him that rooms were prepared for Ned and his retinue at the New Castle. 

Ned didn’t like that Tyrion Lannister had joined them, and was concerned about Stannis Baratheon sailing with Jon and Benjen. He suspected it was to catch Daenerys - _Sansa_ \- and it set his mind racing. He’d promised the girl he’d protect her and he intended to honor that. And it was his own daughter trapped in the Targaryen princess’ body. 

Would it come to war? 

Ned shuddered at the thought of war against his old friend. 

As they approached the city, the air grew salty, briny, a little fishy. The party went to the castle first, and Lord Manderly welcomed them, promising a feast once they’d settled in and rested. 

Ned appreciated it, and sat with the fat Lord, who often appeared a fool, but whose eyes, sharp and observant, belied that. He explained quickly the situation with Robert. Manderly wondered if they might send a ship to intercept the one Daenerys was on; Ned thought it best not to reveal his daughter’s situation. If they could stop the ship from landing at White Harbor, Stannis would be forced to tell Robert that the story must have been false. 

Once the matter was discussed, the warning of possible war given, Ned decided to go to the harbor and wait for Benjen to arrive with Jon. Daenerys, Bran and Arya insisted on joining him and his men, as did Tyrion Lannister, and they set off. 

Merchants from Essos were scarce, as they usually traded at southern ports, but they did occasionally land there, and they were setting up their wares. 

Ned was tense, watching them, watching the ships, watching Tyrion Lannister attempt to barter with them, watching his children. 

Ned didn’t speak much Valyrian, but Tyrion had said something that caused one of the merchants’ faces to grow dark with rage, the others reaching for their weapons; whatever Tyrion was trying to say was only making them angrier. Ned turned to tell the children to ride back. Bran and Arya looked fascinated at the possibility of a fight, and Daenerys was laughing outright. 

“Do you know what he said to them?” He demanded. 

“Why would she know?” Bran asked. 

“He called them pigs and he’s making it worse,” Daenerys supplied. 

“Do you think you could explain to them what he wants? We’ll be at your side,” Ned added, indicating his men. “If he’s murdered here it will only make war inevitable.” She nodded. 

They walked toward the men and Daenerys began to speak to them. They calmed somewhat but refused to sell anything to Tyrion. They moved quickly away from the merchants once the mood settled. 

“When did you learn to speak Valyrian?” Arya demanded of her, as if personally offended that she hadn’t been told. 

“I’ve been trying to learn it,” Daenerys said vaguely. 

“You know I wanted to learn too! It was Visenya Targaryen’s mother tongue.” 

“I’ll teach you.”

“Lady Sansa,” Lord Tyrion interrupted, walking toward them. “I owe you quite a debt.” 

Ned watched the girl with his daughter’s face turn to Lord Tyrion, her eyes like ice.

“You’re a fool, Tyrion Lannister, and my greatest regret among many great regrets, is that I ever thought you wise. I interceded for my Lord father, not for you. If it was you alone I’d have let you be gutted like you deserve.” With that she turned and stormed away, and Ned sighed, glancing at Jory Cassel, who took the cue and followed her. 

Bran and Arya looked as confounded as Tyrion himself. 

“What did you do to my sister?” Arya demanded. 

“Arya,” Ned said warningly. 

“I don’t know,” Lord Tyrion said. “I truly haven’t an idea.” 

Ned decided he would ask Daenerys about it later; the ship carrying Benjen and Jon was visible and would be dropping anchor. 

Benjen was the first to approach, and behind him Jon was staring at Ned; then the boy rushed to him, throwing his arms around him and gripping him. Ned returned the embrace, looking quizzically at Benjen. 

“I have to speak with you,” Jon said when he finally released Ned. “Right away.” 

Ned sighed, and Benjen was giving him a look of warning. 

“What happened?” Ned asked. 

“I must speak with you privately.” 

They approached the Old Mint, where they might speak alone. 

“Why did you never tell me of my parents?” Jon asked, his voice low and anguished. 

Ned stared at him in silence, gripped in anxiety and fury. 

_She promised me she would tell no one_ , Ned thought. Daenerys must have told him before he left, or had she sent a raven? 

Once he calmed enough to speak, he opened the door and told his men to have Sansa sent to him immediately upon her return from wherever she’d stormed off. 

Ned turned back to Jon’s questioning gaze. 

“Sansa told you,” Ned said heavily; or had she also told him that she wasn’t Sansa? 

A flash of anger crossed Jon’s features. “No. Not that Sansa’s word is worth a piss. No doubt she’s told people. But no, she didn’t tell me. Why would she? It wouldn’t serve her selfishness.”

“How did you find out?”

“Father...I mean...Uncle, I suppose...”

“You no longer consider me your father?” Ned demanded, then the anger left him, with only grief in its wake.

“I do,” Jon said quickly. “You were the only father I ever knew. I love you. And seeing you...alive...”

“Alive?”

“I’ve had a...a dream, maybe. A green dream. Or was sent back. I’d say something similar happened to Sansa. She was talking about the white walkers before I left for Dragonstone. It’s funny she would say that’s the most important thing to focus on now. She didn’t think so before. All she cared about was - “

Ned held up a hand, seeing that Jon was getting angry again. “You are you,” he said, in the tone of a question. “You’re Jon.” 

“Or Aegon, isn’t it?” Jon snapped bitterly. “But yes. Who else would I be?”

Ned’s mind was rushing now. “I thought you might have...switched with someone.”

“No,” Jon said, and he looked thoroughly bewildered. 

“And you say I died.” _Exactly as Daenerys had said._

“Yes.” 

“How?”

“You were beheaded for treason. They said you had tried to take the crown from Joffrey for yourself, but you didn’t. After Robert died Renly asked you to join with him, but you declared for Stannis because he was the elder brother.” 

“What about Joffrey?”

“Joffrey is not Robert’s son. None of the children are, they’re Jaime Lannister’s.” 

“I must tell Robert this!”

“ _No_ ,” Jon said fiercely. “I suspect that’s what got you into all this. Possibly what got Robert killed, too. I wasn’t there to say for certain. But Robert was killed by a boar, and it’s gone around that Cersei arranged it. Gave him wine that was stronger than it should have been; or had someone do it for her. It caused endless war. We cannot be at war. The Night King is gathering his army. Right now Mance Rayder is uniting all the free folk to hit Castle Black. But they only want to get south of the Wall -“

“I have no doubt they do,” Ned said. “And then they’ll reave -“ 

“They won’t. Not once they’re united. Now, maybe, but Mance is getting them together because the real enemy is the army of the dead. We can’t fall into squabbling amongst ourselves. Too many died the first time.” 

Sansa - Daenerys, Ned reminded himself - chose that moment to come in. 

“You sent for me?”

“I did.”

“If this is about Tyrion Lannister...” she broke off as she saw Jon, and Jon was glaring at her with such fury Ned almost wanted to shield her from it, but her own eyes spat blue fire back at him. 

“Tyrion Lannister,” Jon repeated. “Have you told him about my parents?” 

“Why would she tell Tyrion Lannister, of all people?” Ned demanded. 

“Ask her,” Jon snapped. 

Ned turned back to Daenerys, who was glaring at Jon. “You remember,” she said icily.

“Aye, I remember. Did you know Varys tried to poison her after that? That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? To have her murdered so you could get what you wanted?” 

“Well you took care of that for him and me, didn’t you?” She snapped back, and for a moment Ned feared Jon would strike her, such was the rage on his face. Then he dropped into a chair, his head in his hands. 

“Who are you talking about?” Ned demanded. 

“Daenerys Targaryen,” Jon said, raising his head. “Sansa told Tyrion Lannister about my parents in the hopes of weakening her claim. Tyrion told Varys and Varys tried to poison her.” 

Ned turned back to her. “Why would you...” he stopped. It wasn’t her, he remembered. “Was it because of Kings Landing?” Ned turned back to Jon. “Because she burned Kings Landing?”

“It was before that,” Daenerys began, but Jon had stood again, his face contorted in fury. 

“That’s what you told him?” Jon stormed. “Of all the things you could have said about her, that’s what you chose?”

“He had the right to know, he -“

“Did she tell you that Daenerys saved the North? The continent? The world?” Jon said, his eyes swinging back to Ned.

“I remember that being Arya,” Daenerys said, her voice soft.

“Arya?” Ned interrupted. 

“Aye, it was Arya,” Jon said, “and she herself said we needed Daenerys. When _you_ tried to downplay Daenerys’ contribution and tried to convince me to renege on my promise to her.”

“Did I? I’m so surprised.”

“Did Sansa tell you that Daenerys lost a dragon trying to save me?” Jon asked Ned. “That she saved my life? That she agreed to help us before I bent the knee to her? That Arya never would have gotten anywhere near the Night King if it hadn’t been for her and her armies and dragons? That -“

“Did _you_ tell _me_ any of that?” Daenerys demanded. “Because how I remember it, you told everyone you gave up your crown to save the North. As if she wouldn’t have helped otherwise.” 

Jon shuddered. “Aye, I did say that,” he said, his voice low. “I acted a coward and a fool. But so did you and all the North. Worse even. We acted without honor or honesty.” Jon turned back to Ned. “Of course Sansa told you about Kings Landing. Of course she left out that every one of us would be dead if not for Daenerys. That we treated her badly and violated Guest Right. Me, by lying about her motive in helping us, and Sansa by actively plotting against her, planting the seeds for rebellion by blaming her for our lack of stores. By trying to have me renege on my promise to help her fight Cersei, even though Cersei was our enemy too.” 

“Cersei,” Ned repeated. “Not Joffrey? Or Stannis?”

“They were dead. Renly was dead. Tommen and Myrcella. And our entire family but for me, Sansa, Arya and Bran. The only wolves left living were Ghost and Nymeria. We cannot have more war. We have to prepare for the Night King. But Daenerys...Stannis said she’s coming here. If she wants the throne I’m going to help her. I don’t care if -“

Daenerys laughed bitterly at that. “You think she wants that throne now? Or anything to do with Westeros?” She demanded. 

“I don’t know. She’s coming to Westeros, I know that. She can’t possibly have her armies yet and if her dragons are even born they’re babies. I don’t know why she’s coming here. I would have thought she wouldn’t come here. She...she was fighting slavery in Essos. She destroyed the slave trade. I suppose Sansa left that out, too.” Daenerys turned from them and walked to the window, looking out. 

“She did leave that out,” Ned said, looking at her back. “She didn’t tell me any of that. Sansa?” 

“It wasn’t relevant to...to our situation here,” she responded, not turning, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Not relevant,” Jon spat. “She brought dragons back into the world. She fought to end slavery and smashed the trade in Slavers Bay. She came here and helped us defeat the Night King and then destroyed Cersei. She lost everything. But the only thing you thought was relevant was that she burned Kings Landing.” She didn’t answer, and Jon sighed heavily. 

“I won’t betray her again. I love her.” At that Sansa made a scoffing sound, and Jon sat down again, shaking his head. “I mean it, Sansa. I’m glad you remember. And I appreciate that you stopped Bran from his fall, that you’ve convinced father to come back to Winterfell. You probably stopped the war, or at least kept us out of it. I’m not like you. I can appreciate what you’ve done even if I’m angry at you. But I’m telling you, if you plot against her, I’m with her this time.” 

Jon looked at Ned again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t stand by Sansa. I tried. I turned against Daenerys and she didn’t deserve that. Tyrion, Arya, everyone said she would kill me, because of the threat to her claim. But she saved my life twice in the battle, and she already knew. She asked me to be with her, to build the new world with her, and I...” he shuddered. “I murdered her.”

“ _Murdered_ her,” Ned repeated. 

“Aye. I kissed her. And I slid the blade into her while I was kissing her.”

Ned stared at him in horror. He glanced at Daenerys, who was standing with her back to them still. “Why?” Ned finally managed. “Was it...an execution? For burning the city?”

 _That’s not how we do executions_ , Ned thought; but Jon was visibly distraught, he did not want to make it worse. 

“I was afraid she’d kill Sansa,” Jon said. “We both knew Sansa was plotting against her, and she would rather bring the North into battle against Daenerys, risking everyone, than accept Daenerys as Queen. I thought after everything you did for me, I couldn’t...” Jon shook his head. “But not now. The fact is, Sansa betrayed you, by disregarding everything you taught all of us. She betrayed me, by telling Tyrion about my parents after she swore she would keep it a secret. She swore it in the Godswood. Under the Heart Tree.” He turned to her again. “Did you even wait a day? Or did you tell the first person you saw?” She didn’t answer, and Jon returned his gaze to Ned.

“I will not put Dany through that again. I don’t know why she’s coming. Maybe to get revenge. I don’t know...” Jon broke off, and he sounded lost, stricken with grief. 

Ned looked at Daenerys, still standing at the window. Ned was sure Sansa must have a side to this story, but how could he expect Daenerys to tell it? Or even know it? And Jon was right; she’d actively tried to get Ned to stay at Winterfell, had saved Lady, had warned everyone about the Night King. Jon had mentioned Bran having a fall, and Ned wanted to know what that meant. But one thing was certain, she had prevented it, and had also told him about Kings Landing, yet had left out significant details that would have worked in her favor. 

“I don’t believe she’s coming here for revenge,” Ned finally said. If the girl had wanted revenge she could have poisoned them all in the night and at any rate, it was Sansa returning to them. Neither of them answered; Ned guessed it was because Jon couldn’t fathom why she was coming and Daenerys knew why already. Ned thought it might be best if Jon was not aware that it was Daenerys here in Sansa’s form; for a few reasons, but mostly because if Daenerys had wanted him to know she would have told him. No doubt she didn’t trust him and if he’d murdered her in such a manner, Ned could hardly blame her.

“Let me promise you this, Jon,” Ned went on. “When she gets here, I will protect her. I won’t let anyone harm her.” 

Jon looked at him and seemed thunderstruck with relief. Jon glanced at Daenerys; expecting an argument, Ned suspected. 

“Thank you,” Jon said. 

“I didn’t tell you about your parents because it wasn’t safe. Robert...”

“I joined the Nights Watch. Before we parted ways, you said when we met again, we’d talk about my mother.”

“Did I? Well...since you already know...”

Daenerys turned from the window. “I should go so you can talk,” she said, and her voice was hoarse. She abruptly turned and left the room. 

Jon was looking at him, expectant, hopeful, fearful. Ned hadn’t spoken of Lyanna in so long. He had loved her so much, and truth be told, he wanted to talk about her. To her son. To tell him of her compassion, her strength, her beauty and the iron beneath it. He got up to pour them both some ale. This conversation was a long time coming.


	8. Chapter 8

Jon 

Morning had come with its clean bright chill, saltier here at White Harbor than at Winterfell. Jon had talked to Ned long into the night, stopping only when Jory Cassel had told them it had grown dark; they’d gone to New Castle, and had supper brought to them in the rooms Ned was given. 

Lyanna Stark had been brave and fierce and kind. She had loved him, Jon thought in wonder. Jon may have grown under the cold and loveless eyes of Catelyn Stark, but his dream, the dream he’d nursed as a child, that his mother was beautiful, a noblewoman, who had loved him...it was true. Had she lived, Jon’s life would have been quite different. 

But of course it would have been different. Would Lyanna have had to give him a mother’s love in secret? And Ned still forced by the love he bore his sister to lie to everyone? Because likely Robert would have killed him just the same if he knew the truth. 

Would Lyanna have had to take her babe into exile like Daenerys and her brother? 

Jon had grown without the assurance of a birthright, but without the burden of a name that would have marked him as a target. 

Daenerys had told him that she’d spent he life running from assassins. That so many men had tried to kill her, she didn’t remember their names. 

Would he have lived the same way, always running? 

Ned had carried the secret to his grave. Had never even told his wife, allowing her to believe he had been unfaithful, to protect Jon.

Jon had barely known the truth for a fortnight when he’d told Sansa and Arya; Sansa hadn’t waited a full day. 

“Why did you tell her?” Ned had asked at one point during the night, when Jon, unable to keep the rage at bay, rage at himself and her, had told Ned this. 

“I don’t even know now,” Jon said. “I wanted them to understand that Daenerys was my family too. I wanted them to know you had never been unfaithful to their mother. I wanted them to know that my parents had been married. Or at least they tried. I can’t wrap my head around what my parents were thinking. But I can’t really wrap my head around what I was thinking. Sansa was never good with secrets. I thought she would at least keep her word to me.” 

“I’m certain Sansa has a side in this, Jon,” Ned had said firmly. “I can’t fathom what that could be, to act against an ally, to renege on a promise to you, to betray you...but she must have suffered a great deal.”

“Aye, she suffered. Is that her excuse? Daenerys suffered. She never lost her compassion until...” Jon shuddered. 

“There’s no need to dwell on that now. We’ll protect her. I promise you that.” 

Jon had nodded gratefully. “Thank you.” 

Although they hadn’t slept at all, Jon wasn’t tired. He was full of hope. Knowing about the Night King and his army this early, they could prepare. Warn the rest of the Kingdoms. But of course that might mean nothing. Jeor Mormont had asked again and again for more men, and it had been to no avail. But they could try. They could also send out scouts to try to make peace with the free folk.

But was that naive? Surely not. Mance was uniting them, and Jon knew all he wanted was to get them south of the Wall. The Thenns, Jon knew, could not be trusted. But the other tribes, they would keep that peace. 

If he joined again...but no. Jon couldn’t join the Nights Watch now. He had to protect Daenerys. Would they still allow him to travel with them? To speak as an emissary between the free folk and the Nights Watch? 

And how would he even find them? He knew that frozen land well now, but not as the free folk did. Not as Ygritte had...

_Ygritte._

She was still alive, too, wasn’t she?

Jon wondered if he would be able to stop her from being killed this time. Maybe, if a peace could be made...Lord Commander Mormont would listen, he knew about the dead...but would Mormont be killed by a dead man if Jon wasn’t there to stop it? And what of Sam Tarly? 

Jon walked outside, inhaling the autumn air, and waves of memory crashed over him. Those days of autumn when his biggest pain was his fear for Bran. His bastardy. 

He saw Sansa approaching on her black destrier. Her eyes met his and went cold. He glared back at her. He had no idea why _she_ was angry at _him._

He didn’t care, either. He was far too angry himself. But he was indignant that she should think he had done some injury to her. 

“Did Lord Stannis agree to let you mine the dragonglass?” she asked, her voice glacial. 

“Aye,” he snapped. “Men are mining it now. He doesn’t remember. But I believe Melisandre might.” 

She nodded. “Good”. She started to ride on. 

“I’ll never forgive you,” he told her. 

“I don’t recall asking for your forgiveness.”

“No? You did. I was leaving to go back to the Wall, as my punishment. You asked if I could ever forgive you.”

“And did you weep like the bitch you were?” 

“I hugged you. But I didn’t forgive you.” 

“Hugged me,” she said with a harsh laugh. 

“You act as if I did you wrong. And I don’t care. It’s no different than when we grew up. You and your cold disdain. I cared then. Not much. But I don’t care at all now. You imagine yourself the victim, but -“

“I suppose you think you were the victim,” she said, her voice spitting venom. 

“No. Not me, but Daenerys. How can you not realize how horrible you were?”

“She didn’t care about me all that much, Jon. It was you and your lack of support or concern that hurt her. She knew me for what I was, not long after we met.” 

Her words slapped him, and he knew she was right. Daenerys had warned him what Sansa would do, and her prediction had been accurate. But...

“That doesn’t absolve you. You like to think you learned from Cersei. From Littlefinger. As terrible as the role models you chose for yourself, were either of them so stupid or selfish to disrespect a powerful ally coming to save them?” 

Sansa was looking at him thoughtfully, though the contempt did not fade from her face.

“Did I choose them for myself? These role models?” she asked him. 

“Maybe not as a child. But at Winterfell, yes. You chose sneaking and using my life as a weapon against the one person who made me happy. You could have chosen to follow Father’s example and instead you chose to follow Petyr Baelish’s.” 

“And whose did you follow?” she demanded. “When you murdered Daenerys while you were kissing her? Who taught you that?” 

“Don’t you ever say her name,” Jon growled at her, the rage returning. “You think your suffering is equal to her achievement. You hold your bleeding sores as your claim to queenship, where she held accomplishment as hers.” 

Sansa laughed then, a hard, brutal sound. “And you? What did you hold? Nothing at all. You went to her and persuaded her to help us, then lied to us about her motive. You told her you were a king, then told us you never wanted it. You were chosen by the North, and refused to bend the knee in exchange for her help, but then when she pledged it, you bent the knee.

“I was nothing to her, a flea on her dragon’s back. It was you who told the North that you’d nobly surrendered your crown to secure her alliance. It was you who told me about your parents. Every weapon I used against her, had been given to me by you. I meant nothing to her. You meant _everything_ to her.”

“You’d have turned the North and the Vale against her.”

“I’d have tried. I didn’t like her and I didn’t pretend to like her. But I never _had_ to turn anyone against her. You did that all by yourself. And you made her think you loved her.” 

“I did love her. I do.”

“Then your idea of love is a shabby and grotesque parody.”

Jon stared at her. She was right, in this at any rate. 

“Maybe it is. Maybe I never deserved her. I told her my people would come to see her for what she was. I pledged myself to her. Then I betrayed her and abandoned her. I crumbled in the face of your disappointment, the North’s disappointment. It won’t happen again, Sansa. You need to know this. I will stand with her against the North, against you, against the Seven Kingdoms. Against the world if need be. 

“She deserved better. She saved us from the Night King. Arya herself said we needed her. And then...Do you really think we could have stood against Cersei? The Golden Company could be held off at the Neck, but they could have come through White Harbor. We had no fleet to match Euron Greyjoy. And we repaid her with treachery. And I loved her, Sansa.”

“If you loved her, why did you turn on her?”

Jon sighed. “I was afraid. Afraid of disappointing the North. Afraid they would murder me like my men at the Wall did. Afraid they would all abandon us like Glover did. Afraid we would lose our allies like Robb did because he fell in love. And we would die. And all Seven Kingdoms would die. I was afraid I would disappoint Father. 

“My love seemed small in the face of all that, and she...she’s strong, Sansa. I know you think you’re strong. You don’t know what strength is. I never thought she could lose. I was fucking stupid. I won’t be stupid again. She’ll likely never forgive me. She may even be coming here to kill me. But I will never betray her again. Not for you or for anyone.” She was looking at him skeptically, and he almost laughed. “You don’t believe me. And I don’t care. This is a warning. It’s more than you deserve. If you choose not to heed it, that will be on you.” He turned and walked away from her. He was shaking with anger, and he couldn’t tell fully how much of that anger was at Sansa and how much was at himself. 

He couldn’t sleep, and he was tempted to find a horse and ride to clear his head, but it appeared Sansa had chosen to do just that and he thought it best to avoid her. 

Bran and Arya walked outside, and their faces lit up when they saw him, rushing to him. He hugged them tightly. Oh, he had missed them. They were the children he’d known once, smiling and bright eyed, their faces lit with vitality and affection. 

They were chattering quickly, and Jon listened to them intently, walking with them to sit on the steps of New Castle to hear their tales. 

Arya’s face darkened as she told him about her friend who’d been murdered by Sandor Clegane, and how Cersei had demanded that father kill Lady. 

Sansa had set her free, and then she’d gone out into the woods “ _at night, alone_ ,” Arya had said in breathless admiration, to find them and bring all three of them back. 

Father found Needle, Arya told him, but she didn’t tell him about Jon giving her the sword.

“I was surprised you told Sansa, but she didn’t tell Father either,” she added.

Jon frowned at this, but Arya plunged ahead. Father was sending for a man to come and teach her how to use it, and she’d invited Sansa to join her in the lessons. 

Apparently Sansa had gotten very good at archery but was...Arya hesitated. “She’s not good at embroidery anymore.” 

“No?” This surprised him. She may have picked up new skills, but Jon knew she was still gifted at embroidery. He remembered the dress she’d made with a Stark wolf on the chest. How she’d made him a new cloak. 

“But she’s really good at math now and she rides better than anyone. And she speaks Valyrian,” Bran piped in. “Arya was _so mad,_ because she wanted to learn it -“

“But she said she’ll teach me.” Arya saw the look on Jon’s face. “I know she was mean before, but she’s not the same.”

“She didn’t tell on me for climbing,” Bran said. “She made me stop. But she didn’t tell.” 

“And she made Jeyne stop calling me Horseface. She said the others are really coming, and it’s a woman who will kill the Night King.”

Jon looked at her little face. “Aye,” he said softly, tenderly. “That it is.” 

“And she _hates_ Tyrion Lannister.”

Jon was surprised at that. Hadn’t Tyrion done just what she’d wanted him to? 

But maybe after Jon had been sent back North, something had happened. 

“Did she tell you why?”

“No. Anyway, I know she’s been awful. But she’s not anymore. She’s fun and much nicer.”

Jon chuckled. Sure, she was “nicer.” She’d learned to treat her family better.

But as far as he could see, she was still awful. She did not seem one bit sorry for what she’d done to Daenerys. He would never forgive her. Though he was grateful. She’d saved Bran from his fall, saved Father, and by extension Robb and little Rickon. Their wolves. 

“Let’s go eat something,” he said, standing. They followed him enthusiastically inside. 

Sansa 

By now, they’d be in Kings Landing, Sansa thought. If Daenerys hadn’t killed them already. Her father and sister were in the lion’s den with the mad queen, and Sansa was so afraid for them. But by now Daenerys would have gotten her letter. She wouldn’t hurt them, Sansa told herself. Not if it would mean her dragon eggs thrown into the sea. 

“Sweet Sister,” Viserys’ voice shook her out of her reverie. “Untie me,” he wheedled. “Haven’t I been good to you?” 

“Have you? Been good to me? Because I remember you beating me and telling me you would let Drogo and his forty thousand men and their horses rape me to get you your crown.” 

“I wanted to go home. Don’t you want to go home? You said you did.” 

Sansa sighed. Home. Wasn’t that all any of them wanted, at the heart of it? 

“And so you sold me to be raped, so you could get your crown.” 

“Dany, I had no choice. How could we go home with no army? I tried to protect you. You never really understood, did you?” His voice had grown angry again. “You just wanted Ser Willem’s house back. Or some ridiculous thing like being a sailor. You’re no true Targaryen. You -“

“A sailor?” Sansa stared at him in disbelief. 

“You don’t remember? You said it would be fine to be a sailor. Wanted to learn all their songs. Prattled on and on about how much you loved the sea. And storms. You were always too stupid to be afraid of storms. Maybe if you hadn’t killed our mother you’d have known her. You’d know how terrible it was to lose her. And then you’d hate storms too. And even though you killed her, I still protected you.” 

Sansa was looking at him, at the anger and desperation on his face. 

“Is this what you do? Call me ‘sweet sister’ then accuse me of killing our mother? Pretend you protected me then sell me to be a glorified bed slave?”

“I did protect you. I kept you alive. I sold what little we had to feed you. I sold our mother’s crown.” Sansa saw anguish on his face as he ranted at her. “And look at you! You were so ungrateful. Too skinny. Always slouching. You’re too skinny, and yet I helped you marry a man who is one of the finest killers alive. We could have gone home. Instead you ran away like a little mouse. You never had it in you to be a dragon.”

Sansa almost laughed at that. Imagine, she thought. Did the man even know his sister at all? 

“Is that so?” she said softly. Indeed, she herself was no dragon. She was a wolf, and wanted to go back to her pack. 

“You are the seed of Aegon and Rhaenys and Visenya, but you’d never know it. You are a weak little girl, and all I wanted was to take back what was stolen from us.” 

Sansa sighed. This, she could understand. She’d wanted back what had been stolen from her own family. 

“A weak little girl,” she repeated. Sansa didn’t like Daenerys, nor did she trust her. But to call her weak might be the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. 

“You are. You always were.” 

“Was I? Tell me. Tell me about it. Our life.”

“You forgot our life?”

“It’s a long trip. I want to hear your version of it.”

Daenerys 

Daenerys rode hard, blinking at the tears that stung her eyes. 

Jon had defended her, and it hurt more than she’d expected it to. In fact, she hadn’t expected him to defend her at all. 

And she’d become attached to the Stark family despite herself. Ned had vowed to protect her and now she feared them falling into a war. She’d allowed herself to love them, and now she wanted to protect them. But how could she? She had no armies and her dragons were still trapped inside dead stone. She had no idea how she might hatch them now, and she had to find a way to get Missandei and her Essosi people free. 

If only she’d never come to Westeros at all. How foolish Jon was, to think she’d want the throne. She wanted nothing to do with Westeros. She wanted to free her people in Essos, destroy the Slavers, and then allow them to choose their leaders as she had once. Then find a house where she might plant a lemon tree and paint her door red. Then live out her life in simplicity. She’d wanted to be the queen once, to take back her family’s home and restore their name; but what had that gotten her? 

Her friends and dragons killed, her allies dead or traitorous, and her own soul crushed and twisted; she had become the very wheel she had sought to break. 

She would go back to Essos as soon as she had her body back. Of course, she’d never win over the Dothraki, not after Sansa had run away like a coward, and Drogo...her heart pounded. Drogo was alive. She could never kill him as she’d killed the khals. She’d reasoned it out in her mind that they were rapists, they enslaved people...but Drogo...he did the same, didn’t he? Yet he’d stood by her side against his khalasar when she’d sought to protect the Lhazareen women. Stood against his blood riders, even. Could she go back to him? Could she convince him not to continue such destruction of innocents? It was their way of life, but she’d convinced the Dothraki to follow her once. Only by a show of strength and dominance, she reminded herself. 

She sighed. She still loved Jon. But unlike Drogo, who’d stood against everyone for her, Jon had crumbled and turned on her. 

Now he had defended her, and vowed to stand by her. But it was only words. Words meant nothing. He’d given her his word before but at the first test of them, he’d shivered and broken and betrayed her. 

Yet his defense of her, his fierce account of all her good deeds, had made her heart ache. 

She loved him. She loved his family now too, and that hurt so much. Once they knew who she was, once she had her body back, they would turn on her. 

_Not all of them_ , she thought. Ned Stark had vowed to protect her. He appreciated all she had done, he wouldn’t betray her. 

But that was worse. Because Robert Baratheon would want her dead. Daenerys could not endanger Ned, not after his kindness to her. She would have to leave Westeros, as soon as she had her own body back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa reflects on Viserys’ tale, Jon realizes it’s Daenerys in Sansa’s body.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and for your awesome comments!
> 
> And thank you BamMod for the warging idea and that the wolves already know! I loved that idea and used it! :)

Sansa 

Viserys was asleep now, and such a tale he had spun! Of poverty and loss and heartbreak. 

_You never lost any of it really, because you never had it,_ he’d hissed at her. _You never really wanted it back, did you? Just Ser Willem’s house. Always that house, because you never remembered what was ours._

His hands had been shaking as he spoke of the Red Keep. Of the men who laughed at him and called him the Beggar King. 

He had called her weak in his tirade, and stupid, a silly little girl with no ambition; then had claimed to love her, to have protected her. 

“You beat me and you sold me,” Sansa had told him coldly. 

“I am your king. You were mine to command.” 

Sansa wondered what must have happened within Daenerys since her brother’s death. Sansa might not trust her, but a weak girl with no ambition she was not.

Viserys had called Sansa’s father a “usurper’s dog”. Sansa knew her family hadn’t exactly welcomed Daenerys. 

_She won’t kill them,_ she told herself. _Not knowing I’ll cast these eggs into the sea if she does._

She shivered. But what might she do if Sansa sold her brother to Robert? She must have some love for him. She’d named her dragon for him. 

By now, Lady had been long gone. 

Had the trouble begun? She knew her mother had arrested Tyrion, and father had been hurt, his leg stabbed. Had that happened yet? It must have. By this day, Jory Cassel had been dead. 

Sansa sat, lost in desolate thoughts. She would not get to Kings Landing in time to save father. Her entire chest ached, to think he was alive, right now, still alive, and she would never get to him in time to save him. 

No, they had to go North. There was still a chance to save mother, wasn’t there? Not likely, she realized. Mother was already at Riverrun, and Robb would be making his way south to try to save father. Daenerys would be trapped in Kings Landing, Arya would disappear...Sansa wondered if Arya too remembered. She wanted to cry. Only Rickon and Bran were at home. Maybe she could save them at least. 

She couldn’t help but to ache for Daenerys, or at least for the child she had been. They had much in common. She remembered Daenerys telling her that they had shared experiences. Sansa regretted now that she hadn’t tried to connect with her. She wondered if Daenerys regretted it as well, or was she consumed with rage and revenge? 

She paced the cabin, her thoughts racing. All she could do was wait for the ship to dock. She hated the feeling of helplessness, it reminded her of those days in Kings Landing. 

Another moon at least, before they would reach a harbor in Westeros, and father would be dead already. Mother and Robb already at war. Arya missing, Bran and Rickon missing too. How could she hope to find them? Could she stop Theon from taking Winterfell? Likely not. She shuddered. She could hope, hope, hope to find mother and Robb and warn them. 

Don’t trust Walder Frey, she would tell them. And would they believe her? If she told them things only she would know, they must realize it was her. She could warn Jon, too, that his men would murder him. 

She started to feel a little more hopeful, even though her heart was heavy to think that father was still breathing and she could do nothing to save him. 

Jon

The wonder of having father alive hadn’t left him. 

_Uncle_ , his mind whispered. But, no. Ned Stark had raised him. Loved and protected him. He was the most honorable man, and the only father, Jon had ever known. 

They ate supper quietly, and his heart was soothed, to see Bran looking happy, healthy. Sansa had saved him, and father, too, at least for now.

He had to be grateful for that...but every time he started to soften toward her, his mind filled with the memory of a cold, destroyed throne room, and Daenerys dead in his arms. 

He couldn’t forgive her, even if he wanted to. Sansa had pushed and pushed...

He shook his head. 

“What’s wrong?” Arya asked him. 

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.” 

Sansa glanced at him, then back at her plate. 

After dinner, Jon went to sleep right away. They were starting back to Winterfell in the morning. Soon, he would see baby Rickon again. His chest tightened with grief as he thought about the boy murdered before his eyes. 

Robb would be coming to meet them...alive. Just as father was alive, and Uncle Benjen and Rickon and Maester Luwin...even Catelyn’s being alive made him feel happy.

He fell into a fitful sleep, and then he was running. Running through the night, through the woods, in Ghost’s skin...but not alone, not now. Now Summer and Nymeria ran beside him. 

He could make out a clearing, and under the moonlight, were Lady and Sansa.

 _Not a wolf..._ his instincts cried. Something was off. She was crying, and as she saw the other wolves, she smiled at them through tears, and they went to her...they loved her...

But no bond, not with Lady, only that of love...as Ghost had loved Sam...

_Not a wolf..._

Of course Sansa had always been more Tully, hadn’t she?...but this didn’t feel like that either...not a wolf, but nor was she trout. And under her Tully hair and eyes, wasn’t she a wolf, after all, bonded to Lady once?

She reached out and ruffled his fur. 

“Did you come to get me? I know I promised to stop riding alone at night,” she murmured.

Something in her eyes...

 _Dragon,_ his instincts screamed. _She’s a dragon._

Behind those Tully eyes and under that Tully hair, hiding under the guise and the name of a wolf...lurked the soul of a dragon.

Jon jerked awake. 

_What in the name of..._

He shook his head and went to break his fast, and stared at Sansa as she entered the hall.

She noticed it, and glared back at him. 

But then Robb entered the hall with some of father’s men, and Jon rushed to him, threw his arms around him. 

“It’s good to see you,” he said hoarsely. 

“And you,” Robb returned. 

Bran and Arya had also jumped up and ran to hug Robb, who hugged them back, then walked to Sansa to plant a kiss on the top of her head, and she smiled at him. 

“I hope you’re feeling better,” he said, smiling.

Her smile was wan, but she nodded. 

Robb embraced father as well, then Uncle Benjen. He sat down, and started eating with them. Jon kept glancing again at Sansa, who was talking to Arya, teaching her Valyrian words, and last night’s run came back to him. 

_Not a wolf...a dragon._

“Where did you learn Valyrian?” Jon demanded. 

“We should be getting ready to go,” Ned announced, and that brought the conversation to an abrupt end. 

Riding back to Winterfell with his family was more than Jon could have wished for. 

He rode close to Robb, but watched Sansa, her ease with the black destrier. 

“She’s better at riding than she was,” Jon noted. 

“She is,” Robb agreed. 

Jon frowned. “She’s off. Have you noticed something, really _off_ about her?” 

It was something more than all that happened, Jon thought, remembering her jumping her horse over a broken tree limb that should have been too high, a moon before. 

Speaking Valyrian, forgetting her embroidery...

_Not a wolf..._

“She is,” Robb agreed. “Ever since that morning.” 

“What morning?”

“Remember that morning, she woke up really pale, and telling us about dead armies, and saying she’s a monster. She said she was Daenerys Targaryen. She...what’s wrong?” 

Jon was staring at him intensely, and hadn’t realized the color had drained from his face. 

“She did...” Jon whispered. “She said she’s Daenerys...”

He remembered father asking if Jon was Jon. If he’d switched with someone. 

_She’s a dragon..._

“Are you all right?” Robb asked. 

Jon nodded, then urged his horse forward, to catch up with her.

“You’re not Sansa,” he said bluntly. “Are you?” 

She glanced at him coldly, then fixed her eyes ahead of her. 

“You realize if you murder me again, it’s your sister’s body, or your cousin’s, I should say...and I don’t know what will happen,” she said, her voice low and cold.

Jon’s heart was hammering in his chest. 

“Daenerys,” he whispered. 

“Your father wanted me to keep that information to myself. I realize he’s the only one in your family who’s capable of discretion, but you could at least try.”

“Dany, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry-“ 

“If you could stop calling me ‘Dany’, I would appreciate it. It’s not only me you endanger when you get sloppy this time,” she hissed at him. 

“I never meant to endanger you, I swear.”

“You swear?” She laughed bitterly. “Do you really think your word means anything to me now?” 

Jon winced. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t suppose it does.” 

“Now hear me, Jon, I’m not going to harm your people. I give you my word. And unlike you, I keep mine.”

“You saved Bran from his fall. You saved Lady. You -“

“There’s no need to review these things. I’ve been here. I know. Now is there any way you can manage to keep this information to yourself? I promised Lord Stark I would keep it quiet. This information can only do harm. Sansa is on her way here, and perhaps we can find some mage to set things right. Then I’ll leave.” 

“My father...I mean...”

“I know who you mean.” 

“He said he would protect you. He knows who you are?”

“He does. I wanted him to know about Kings Landing, because he had made that promise to me. I thought he should know.” 

“Why did you tell him that, but none of the good you did?” He asked, his voice tender.

“I thought if he knew that, he might not wish to make any promise to protect me. I was a murderer.” 

“What did he say?” 

For a moment, she looked as if she might weep; but she took a breath, and it was gone. “He said he would protect me anyway. Once I’m back in my own body, I’ll leave. I’m not going to endanger him, or his family.” She bit her lip. “I see now why you admire him so much. I understand now. I see why you were protective of your family. They’re good people. I mean, other than Sansa. At least now. And my presence will only hurt them.” 

“You’ll be killed if you go alone.” 

“I’ll figure out something.” 

“I’ll go with you.” 

“No. You have to stay here and plan for the Night King’s invasion. And I don’t trust you.” 

Jon flinched as if she’d slapped him. “Aye, I can’t fault you for that.” 

Lord Tyrion chose that moment to ride closer to them. 

“Lady Sansa. If I may, I’d like to -“ 

She moved her legs against her destrier, urging him to ride ahead, calling back, “You may not.” 

“I’ve offended your sister in some way,” Tyrion said to Jon. “I have no idea how.” 

Jon shook his head. _You betrayed her. You failed her. You urged me to murder her._

“It doesn’t matter. Leave her alone. Why are you here?” 

“I was asked by my good brother to meet with Stannis -“ 

“And Stannis is staying on at White Harbor. Why are you here?” 

“I will return to White Harbor in a fortnight. He’ll still be there, waiting for the Essosi ship that carries Daenerys Targaryen.” Jon sent him a glare, then looked ahead. “Have I offended you as well?” Tyrion asked gently. 

Jon glanced back at him. _I respected you once,_ he thought. Once he had considered Tyrion a good man. 

But of course, Tyrion’s actions had been nowhere near as bad as his own. He could have chosen not to listen to him. 

And he had to be careful. If Dany had promised father not to tell anyone who she was, Jon mustn’t let him know that he knew. 

Arya had caught up to Dany, and they’d gone back to speaking in Valyrian. 

_She could have poisoned us all,_ Jon mused. Instead she’d stopped horror from befalling them, even saving Sansa’s wolf, who trotted beside her. 

_She’s better than I am,_ Jon thought. 

“You haven’t offended me, Lord Tyrion,” he finally said. _But I will never forgive you._

He rode his horse close to Ned, and glanced at him. 

“Father,” he began. “I wanted to talk to you. About Daenerys.” 

“Go on.” 

“I love her. She’s good, and generous, and strong. But she’s compassionate. She deserved better than we gave her. She’ll probably never forgive me, but I love her. I know she’s my aunt. I know it’s not right. But it doesn’t matter. She’ll never let me anywhere near her again, I’m sure of it. You said you’d protect her. But...I don’t think she’ll want to stay. She has too much she’ll want to do in Essos, and she won’t want to endanger you.” 

Ned frowned. “You don’t think she’ll stay?” 

“I don’t. I’m going to try to convince her. But she hates me. She must. I can’t fault her for it.”

“I’ll see if I can help convince her.” 

Daenerys 

Arya was picking up Valyrian quickly. She was excited about learning, and Daenerys noticed that she was also quick to make friends; she still grieved over Micah, the boy she had befriended, who had died at Joffrey’s order. Arya had asked her one night if Mycah’s death had been her fault. 

“Of course not!” 

“If I hadn’t gotten involved -“

“Arya, you didn’t know what Joffrey was going to do. None of that was your fault. It was Joffrey’s fault, and only Joffrey’s fault.” 

Arya told her a few days later that Ned had said the same thing. 

She wondered when it was that Arya had stopped being so open to new friendships. Daenerys had never even spoken to her; Arya had simply disliked her immediately. 

And she loved the girl, even though she knew that the day would come that she and Sansa would get their bodies back. And she would lose this tenuous relationship with a family who she cared for so deeply now, and who would cut her out like an infection.

 _I never should have allowed myself to get so close,_ she berated herself. But she had, and it was too late to change anything now. Bran and Arya and Ned we’re dear to her, whether she liked it or not. 

Jon knew who she was. This worried her. He seemed sincere enough in his declarations of love, his vows to stand by her, but he’d seemed sincere when he had sworn himself to her and kissed her, and then he plunged a knife into her.

But it didn’t matter, she told herself sternly. She would leave Westeros as soon as she had her body and her dragon eggs back. She had to go back to Essos and free her people. She loved them. The idea of seeing Missandei again, seeing Jorah again, Grey Worm, all those she had loved and lost, made her heart lighter. 

Maybe she would never return to Westeros at all. Maybe having so much time to prepare, they would never need her. She could stay in Essos and never even think of them again. 

But she knew she _would_ think about them. Because she loved them now, and had no one to blame but herself. 

They made it to Winterfell, and Daenerys watched the affectionate reunion, then was pulled into a hug by Catelyn. She returned the hug, as she knew was expected, then stayed long enough to make certain she seemed like a dutiful daughter...an affectionate daughter...a daughter. 

Catelyn told her in excitement that she’d managed to get lemons. Daenerys’ blood went cold. Had she betrayed herself? And how would Catelyn know her love for lemons? 

But apparently Sansa loved lemon cakes, and Catelyn had gotten the lemons to make sure the cakes would be here when Sansa returned.

After that she was free to ride, to let her stumbling thoughts trip over each other.

A part of her was angry, bitter. She’d never had a family, never had people around her who loved her and cared about her. 

But another part of her hurt for these people who had been so cold to her. How much worse would it be to have a family, and then lose them? 

Jon remembered now, he could warn them. 

It was best for her to leave this place. At least in Essos she wasn’t burning innocents. She shuddered. She could not escape the horrific memory of that day. The screams of terror and agony as she’d burned the city. 

She rode back to Winterfell as the sun started to set. She had promised Ned she wouldn’t ride at night. She’d snuck out a few times, but she didn’t want to blatantly disobey him. 

When she reached Winterfell, she brought her horse into the stable. As she was walking toward the entrance, she saw Tyrion and immediately turned her back on him. He approached her anyway, to her irritation. 

“Lady Sansa,” he said. “I apologize for whatever it is I did to you.” 

She turned to him. She had loved him once, considered him a dear friend, had named hi her Hand. 

And he’d failed her. Betrayed her. 

She owed him nothing. 

But...

“You should know that I despise you,” she said, and he blinked in shock. “There may come a time I don’t,” she added. He certainly hadn’t betrayed Sansa. He’d done her bidding. “But there is something else you should know, and I’m not telling you this for your own sake, wretched conniving thing that you are, or for your murdering bitch of a sister either. But your niece. Myrcella. Don’t ever send her away from Kings Landing.” 

“Why would I send her away from Kings Landing?” 

“For a marriage alliance. Your sister makes enemies everywhere. And you think you’re clever. Always, your clever plans. But all they bring is ruin. You underestimate everyone else, because you think you’re smarter than everyone else. If it came to it, to real war and not your slimy plotting, your sister may be a vile creature, but she’ll beat you every step of the way. And she wishes to keep her daughter close. She’s right, and you are wrong. If you send that little girl away, she will die, and it will be on your hands.” 

She turned then and walked into the great house. She was shaking. She hadn’t wished to speak to Tyrion at all, but if it meant one less dead innocent, she had to try.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany has a conversation with Cat, Arya overhears a conversation, Jon talks to Ned.

Daenerys 

It was much more painful than she had even thought it could be, to sit with Catelyn Stark and have tea with her. To call her mother and be treated with such absolute and unconditional love. 

They’d been nibbling lemon cakes and Cat was telling her how much she missed her. That she was concerned about her because of her embroidery and harping -

“Harping?” Dany had repeated, confused.

“You used to be so good with a harp.” 

“Oh...I’ll try to learn again.” 

Then she’d talked about some girls Sansa knew, and now they missed her, and they were a little envious Sansa brought Jeyne and not them. 

Then Cat’s face grew serious.

“I was very hurt by what you said to me,” she said sternly. “About Jon.” 

Dany took a deep breath. “I apologize if I hurt you. But what I said was true, he was only a child. I know you feel betrayed. I would be hurt in your situation, too. But he was innocent.” 

“Sansa, I love your father very much. I could have forgiven him a hundred bastards, had they only lived away from me.” She sipped her tea. “This is hardly a proper conversation for a young lady.” 

“I disagree. Had I been willing, I’d be betrothed. I will be a woman before long. I’d like to know why you treated him this way.” 

Catelyn seemed to consider that. “All right. We’ll talk about it. The truth is, I felt very disrespected. To have to see the reminder of your father’s betrayal, every day...”

“Maybe it wasn’t disrespect. Maybe it was respect.”

“Respect?” Cat demanded.

“I understand Robert Baratheon has dozens of bastards running around. Father had but one indiscretion in all the years you’ve been with him. He never brought the woman here.” 

Cat winced. “He must have loved her deeply,” she said. “Nothing I could ever say to him would convince him to send Jon away.”

That hurt Dany’s heart. Of course he’d loved her. She was his sister. But she couldn’t say that to Cat. 

“And yet he never brought her here,” Dany repeated. “That would have been disrespectful.” A sudden thought crossed her mind. “He could have lied to you. He could have said Jon was Uncle Benjen’s. Or Uncle Brandon’s. He told you the truth because he’s a good man. Because he respects you too much to lie to you. Because he knows you’re a good woman and wouldn’t harm him.” 

“He loves the boy, I know that much. I know it makes you angry, but it would have been better if Jon joined the Nights Watch.” 

Dany bit down on an angry retort. “I don’t think it would. The dead are coming.” 

“Seven Hells, Sansa.” 

“They are. I’m telling you, they are.” 

“If Jon was at the Nights Watch, he would have no children that could compete with Robb’s children for Winterfell.” 

Daenerys thought she might weep in sadness for all of them. 

_Or Robb would die and Jon would be named King in the North._

“Jon loves Robb,” she said out loud. “He’s not going to try to take Winterfell from him. And if he was treated more kindly, that would be even less likely.” 

“Bastards are dishonest. They are grasping and selfish and greedy.” 

“On the isle of Naath there is no marriage,” Daenerys countered. “And so they have no concept of bastards, but by your definition, they are all bastards. And they’re peaceful. They are loving and kind and wise.” 

“Where did you hear that?” 

“I read it,” she said quickly. 

“Sansa -“

“A war is coming, mother. We need to have each other’s backs.” 

“So father told you.” 

“Father?” 

“About Daenerys Targaryen. He’s sworn he will go to war if he must. He will not let Robert take her. He’ll get us all killed.” 

“She’s not going to stay,” Daenerys said, shivering a little. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course she’ll stay. Why would she come if not for war? She likely wants to take back her father’s throne.” 

_Not anymore_ , Daenerys thought. 

But she had to be careful. This woman was not one who would be kind to her. She would be cold as ice and Dany could _not_ allow herself to become attached to her.

“I was talking about the war with the dead,” she said. 

“Sansa, enough of this.”

“They’re real. And they’re coming. It will get horribly cold and we need to band together.” 

Cat smiled faintly. “Now you sound like your father.”

Daenerys almost dropped her tea, and then realized she meant Ned. 

“You know...” Cat went on, “when Jon was a boy, I prayed. I prayed for him to die.” 

Daenerys had to tighten her grip on her cup to keep from throwing it at her. 

“That’s very cruel.” 

“Yes. Then he became ill. And I was afraid. I felt as though I must be a monster to wish such a horrible thing on a child. I begged The Seven to save him. To let him live. I promised I would try to love him. And then he grew well again. And I couldn’t do it.” 

_I see where Sansa gets her lying tongue, then,_ Daenerys thought. 

“You broke a vow to the gods.” 

Cat looked at her. “Yes. Sansa, when you’re older, maybe you’ll understand -“

“Understand what? That the words of your ancestors mean nothing? Family, Duty, Honor -“

“That’s enough! Your father betrayed me! He wouldn’t even tell me her name!”

“That’s between you and him. But this relationship you and Jon have, is between all of us. You wouldn’t even let him sit with us when Robert and Cersei were here.” 

“How could I allow a bastard to sit with the king and queen? That would have been disrespectful to them.” 

_The queen’s children are bastards anyway,_ Dany thought. 

Dany laid her cup in the table, studied her hands, now folded in her lap. 

“Sansa, I didn’t want him to be a threat to my own children.” 

“He isn’t.” 

“I was angry, and every time I ever looked at him, I remembered your father’s betrayal. I...I do feel guilty. Every time I see any bastard anywhere. I feel guilty and angry.” 

“I can’t make you care for him. You feel betrayed. You feel disrespected. I understand, even though I don’t like how you treat him. I can sympathize with your feelings. But he was innocent in all this. You took your anger at father out on a child. And war is coming. Winter is coming. There’s never been so urgent a need to remember Father’s House words. And your own father’s, too.” 

_And mine_ , she thought. The dead things that were coming for them were bloodless beings of ice. What was more antithetical to them, than Fire and Blood? 

“What is it you expect of me, Sansa? To love him? The living reminder of your father’s betrayal?”

“Perhaps not. But you need not treat him as if he’s responsible for that betrayal. If you treated him more kindly, don’t you think that would secure loyalty far more effectively than treating him so badly? I could point out that Jon would not turn on his family. Not for love or land or duty or vows. Not for anything. But if you can’t believe that, you must know that treating him as if he’s not family, would not secure his loyalty.” 

Catelyn nodded. “If you feel strongly about this, Sansa, I offer you an exchange. I know nothing I say will stop you from all this fighting and riding you and Arya are set upon.”

“It’s necessary.” 

“Fine. But my offer is this. I will be kinder to Jon. But you _will_ practice your embroidery. You will practice your drawing and your harp and your singing. You will be obedient and attend your lessons.”

Daenerys nodded. “I agree to your terms,” she said, offering a smile. 

Her embroidery was improving, though still nowhere near the artistry Sansa’s work displayed. She took to the harp almost immediately. She had to learn some basic rules and techniques, to Septa Mordane’s chagrin - “I don’t understand how you’ve forgotten all this, Lady Sansa” - but after that, it was easy to learn the rest. And once she’d learned existing songs, she found that she enjoyed inventing new songs, rearranging the notes and creating new pieces, to the delight of Catelyn and truly the rest of the household. 

It was disorienting to her, when other Northerners smiled at her in approval. 

The lessons she and Arya received in “water dancing” were far more gratifying to her. A man named Syrio Forel had arrived at Winterfell to teach them. 

They were also permitted to join the boys, training with Rodrik Cassel, Jory’s father and the Master-At-Arms for Winterfell. He did not approve of this activity for ladies, but he obeyed Ned and trained the girls. 

Robb was tremendously kind in this as well, and Daenerys was grateful to him in no small measure. 

Daenerys knew she was getting better, and her archery had been honed so that it was all but perfect.

She watched the boys practice as well, hoping to gain some knowledge. Jon had told her once that Robb had been better at fighting than himself, but this was far from the case now. Of course, Robb had died and Jon had continued learning. 

Robb and Theon watched Jon in dumb shock as he thoroughly trounced them both, then Robb asked how and where Jon had learned so much. 

The first time Catelyn spoke to Jon, addressed him by name and invited him to sit with the rest of the family, he looked so stunned that Daenerys couldn’t help but to hurt for the little boy he’d been. 

She could see it was difficult for Catelyn, but she appreciated that the woman had held up her end of the bargain. 

She was allowed to ride, but only in the daytime and only if one of the boys or men would join her. That wasn’t hard. Robb and Theon went riding almost daily, and while they had been frustrated at first to bring her along every time, even after that first ride, they quickly saw that there was no issue of her keeping up with them. That in fact it was usually much harder for them to keep up with her. 

What did frustrate them was her insistence on bringing Bran and Arya along, much more often than they would have otherwise.

“Arya is an excellent rider,” she argued. “And anyway, you can’t expect them to get better without practice.” 

“She’s right,” Jon added, drawing a glare from Theon but a grin from Robb. 

“Well, since the two of you feel so strongly about it, you can ride behind us with them,” Robb said. 

Jon chuckled at that, and Daenerys was warmed by the affection between them. 

Robb had noticed she and Arya getting better with the swordplay and decided to help them. Jon would help as well, but Daenerys was not ready to let him put his hands on her or come at her with a sword, even a wooden practice sword. 

“You don’t really think I’ll hurt you,” Jon said, and she was both annoyed and aching at the injured expression on his face. 

“Of course she doesn’t,” Robb said. “Sansa, you don’t think he’d hurt you, do you?” 

She sighed. “No,” she said between clenched teeth, though her glare at Jon screamed yes.

“She’s scared because he’s a bastard,” Theon offered, and she turned her glare on him. “Bastards can’t be trusted.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She demanded. She could see Theon thought it was a harmless joke, but that only made her angrier. 

“Sansa! Language!” Robb said, though he looked as though he might burst into laughter at her choice of words. 

“Hang my _language_ ,” she said. She turned back to Theon. “What is your problem?” 

Theon looked genuinely surprised by her outburst, and Jon looked uncomfortable, but was watching her intensely. 

“I’m sorry,” Theon finally said.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jon said, turning the conversation back to its original topic. 

Tyrion chose that moment to come outside, and she turned abruptly and walked back into the keep. 

Jon 

_She thinks I’ll hurt her,_ Jon thought. 

It scathed him to know she believed that, and yet of course she did. 

He glared at Tyrion, and Bran and Arya were glaring at him too. 

“What happened?” Robb asked, no doubt confused by Daenerys’ sudden departure and seeing their expressions. 

“He did something to Sansa,” Arya said, and Robb’s expression turned dark.

“What did you do to Sansa?” Robb demanded. 

Tyrion sighed. “I truly do not know, but...she must have heard something about me somewhere. I’ve apologized to her for whatever it is I did. She...gave me some advice about my niece.” 

Jon looked at him sharply. “What did she say about your niece?” 

“Not to send her away for a marriage alliance,” he said, and his expression was befuddled. 

“She’s only a child, isn’t she?” Robb asked. 

“She is,” Tyrion said. “Eight years old.” 

Jon frowned. Myrcella Baratheon had been murdered, he remembered. 

“Sansa’s right,” Jon said bluntly. “You’d best take her advice.” 

He wanted to go inside and find her. She hated Tyrion, she must, and even more, she hated Cersei. And yet she’d advised Tyrion to save his niece. 

But of course, she had every reason to hate his family, she could have murdered them all, yet instead she’d gone out of her way to protect them. 

As much as Jon wanted to look for her, he decided against it. She wanted to be alone, and he would respect that. 

The next day, he walked outside to see Robb practicing with Daenerys and Bran. She wasn’t so mistrustful of Robb, he thought bitterly. But then, Robb hadn’t put a knife in her. He approached them, and started to practice with Bran, not wanting to interrupt Dany and Robb. She was picking it up quickly now, he noted. Another moon or two and she’d be formidable. 

Arya came outside, rushing over to them. “I heard mother and father talking,” she whispered, her voice low but brimming with excitement. “They said Daenerys Targaryen is coming here!” 

Daenerys almost dropped her sword, turning to Arya sharply. 

“That can’t be,” Robb said. “Why would she come to Westeros? Robert would murder her.” 

“That’s what father said. He said we will keep her here and protect her.” 

“That’s impossible,” Robb repeated.

“And if it is true, it’s not something we should talk about outside,” Jon said firmly, glancing at Daenerys, who had paled somewhat. 

“I agree,” Robb said. They walked inside without another word, Daenerys trailing behind them. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, promise her he would protect her, but he knew she would not believe him. 

They decided to go into Robb’s room, then sat down, waiting for Arya to elaborate. 

“Father said she’s taking a ship here. He said King Robert knows she’s coming. He’s sent Stannis Baratheon to wait at White Harbor, and capture her. Father intends to bring men there and fight if he has to, to bring her here.” 

Jon knew that Father had promised Daenerys he would protect her, and that he was aware it was Sansa who would be arriving at White Harbor. 

He glanced at Daenerys, who looked anguished. 

_She doesn’t want Father to be hurt,_ he realized. 

“I’m going to go with him,” he said. 

“As will I,” Robb added. 

“I want to come too,” Bran added, and Arya opened her mouth to speak, but Daenerys interrupted. 

“The more of us who go, the worse it will be,” she said. “He’ll be worrying enough about his men being harmed. How much more so if his children are there as well?” 

Bran and Arya nodded, though they looked disappointed. 

“I am his eldest son,” Robb began, “and I - “

“Should talk to Father,” Daenerys said. “Tell him you know about it. Tell him you wish to help if you must, but if he tells you to stay behind, do as he says. But Robb, _advise_ him if you like.” 

“You’re an excellent strategist,” Jon put in.

“Tactician,” Daenerys corrected. 

“What’s the difference?” Robb asked, frowning.

“A tactician makes plans for specific short term goals,” Daenerys said. “For example, winning battles. A strategist makes plans for a long term goal. For example, a war.” 

“True,” Jon said. “I stand corrected, you’re an excellent tactician.” 

“I’ve never been in a battle or a war,” Robb said, looking at both of them in confusion.

Daenerys started pacing. “She’s so stupid. I’m sorry to say it, but she is.”

“Who?” Arya asked. 

“Daenerys,” she responded. “Coming here is the worst thing she could have done.” 

“That doesn’t mean she’s _stupid_ ,” Arya protested. “We don’t even know her. Maybe she has a plan.” 

Bran started laughing. “You’re just defending her because she’s a Targaryen,” he told Arya.

That seemed to strike Daenerys as funny, since she stared at both of them for a minute, then dropped into a chair, burying her face in her hands and laughing, shaking her head.

Arya flushed. “I’m just saying - “

“I’m not laughing at you, Arya. I promise,” Daenerys said, trying to control the gales of laughter and hiccuping as a result of it. 

“It sure looks like you are,” Arya grumbled, but Daenerys reached out her hand and Arya walked over to her, taking her hand and then settling into the chair with her. 

“You’re right,” Daenerys said when she managed to calm her giggling. “Maybe she’s not stupid. Maybe she didn’t know what else to do.” 

“I’ll talk to Father after supper,” Robb said. 

“I’m going to get into trouble,” Arya said. “They’re going to think I was listening in on them.” 

“Weren’t you?” Bran asked. 

“Not at first. I was chasing cats.” 

“Chasing cats?” 

“Syrio Forel told us to chase cats,” Daenerys put in. 

“Why?” Robb asked. 

“Stealth. She’ll need it for what she’s going to do,” Daenerys said. 

“What is she going to do?”

“What am I going to do?” 

Robb and Arya had both spoken at the same time. 

_It’s true,_ Jon thought. Stealth was what would get her past the White Walkers and to the Night King. 

“Learn how to fight,” Daenerys said vaguely, then stood, still holding Arya’s hand. “I’d like to go riding,” she said. Bran and Arya immediately agreed, and they all went to the stables. 

Jon had noticed that Lady Stark had been gentler toward him of late, though her eyes still glittered coldly. The only time she’d ever called him by his name was when Bran was hurt, and she’d told him it should have been him. 

But now she’d invited him to sit with them, called him by his name. He had no idea why. Had Father told her the truth? 

He knew Robb was going to talk to him after supper, but he wished to do so as well. He found Daenerys first. 

“I’m going to tell Father I know you’re _you_ and not Sansa. I’ll tell him I figured it out on my own, so he doesn’t think you told me.”

She nodded. “We have to figure out a way to protect Sansa without his going to war with Stannis. I don’t want him or his men hurt, and I also I don’t want him and Stannis in conflict. We need that dragonglass.” 

Jon nodded. She was right about that. 

He appreciated the fact that she was willing to listen to him at all, despite her cold gaze that made it clear she hadn’t forgiven him. 

He wanted to hold her, he wanted to ask if she was all right. He wanted so much, and could do none of it. 

Father was in his solar, and Jon knocked before entering. 

“It’s Daenerys,” Jon said without preamble. “In Sansa’s body.” 

Father leaned back, looking at him. “She told you.” 

“No. I figured it out. She can ride better than any man here. She can’t embroider. She speaks Valyrian. She’s good at math. That morning, she said she was Daenerys. She said she was a monster. She’s not. We were the monsters.” 

“I wasn’t there to say whether you or she were monsters. It sounds like none of you were at your best. But if the girl was a monster, she would not have warned us about the dead, or about anything else. Or saved Lady, or found all the wolves after they’d run into the woods. Or stopped me from going to Kings Landing. Of all the things she could have told me about her time here, she said she burned Kings Landing. She didn’t tell me any of the good she did, nor any of the bad you and Sansa did.”

“She’s good, I swear it. Better than...maybe anyone. But she wants to leave. Once she has her body back, she doesn’t intend to stay. She doesn’t want to endanger any of us. She says if you war with Stannis, we won’t get the dragon glass. We need to find a way to save Sansa without fighting Stannis.” 

“And how do you or she propose to do that?” 

“Maybe we could kidnap her from him. Listen, Arya overheard you and Lady Stark talking. She told us. Me, Robb, Bran, and Dany. They all know Daenerys is coming.” Ned gave a frustrated sigh, and Jon went on. “Robb wants to join you. Bran and Arya did too, but Dany talked them out of it.” 

“Jon, I’m going to ask you to stop calling her Dany. If anyone were to overhear us, it would be dangerous.” 

“Robb is an excellent tactician.” 

“Is he now?” 

“Aye. You were beheaded and Robb fought a war. He won every battle.” 

Father smiled. “Did he? And what happened?” 

“He...He was murdered. Walder Frey violated Guest Right and Roose Bolton turned traitor. Robb, his wife, Lady Stark, and all Robb’s men there were slaughtered.” 

Ned shuddered. “So I know not to trust them.” 

“Aye. Never trust either of them. His son Ramsay is a monster.” He hesitated. “There was something else.” 

“Go on.” 

“Lady Stark invited me to sit with all of you. She called me by name. Did you...tell her? About my parents?” 

“No. I fear that if I told her, she might tell someone else.” He sighed heavily. “She’s entered into what can only be described as a bribe with Sansa.” 

“A bribe?”

“Sansa said she would try harder to learn her embroidery and re-learn the harp if Lady Stark would make more efforts to be kind to you.” He smoked a little. “I can’t say her embroidery has gotten much better, but she’s a natural with the harp. Her brother was...” he broke off. 

“Her brother?” 

Father hesitated, then, his voice all but a whisper, he said, “Your father. Rhaegar Targaryen. He was always a gifted harpist.” 

Jon nodded, his own heart heavy. “She shares that with him, I suppose.” 

“Was there anything else?” 

“No. I have to speak with Uncle Benjen. He’s riding back to Castle Black. I have to warn him not to go ranging. If he does, he’ll never come south of the Wall again. And he needs to look out for Sam.”

“Sam?”

“Samwell Tarly. His shit of a father sent him to the Wall.” Jon could feel himself getting angry again. Sam, who’d been a dear friend once, yet had come to him to speak ill of Daenerys for killing his rotten father, even after years of hearing of her good works from Aemon. 

Jon felt a pang of longing then. Lord Commander Mormont, Maester Aemon, Pyp, Grenn, Edd, even Sam; all those he’d come to love, and now would never know. 

Daenerys was set on leaving, he knew. She feared for the Stark family despite how Jon and Sansa and even Arya had treated her. 

And then, of course she would wish to find Missandei. She would feel as strongly about slavery as she had before. 

Once he knew she was safe, perhaps he could take a trip to Castle Black. Maybe she could even come. Meet Maester Aemon herself. Jon wished he’d told her about him. 

A commotion outside caught Father’s attention, and they both walked down the hall, where Maester Luwin was approaching them. 

“My Lord,” He said, “Lord Stannis Baratheon is here. He said he needs to speak with you.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa makes a decision, and Stannis talks to Ned, Melisandre talks to Jon and Dany

Sansa 

Today was the day father died. 

Sansa was unsure what she would find at Winterfell. She’d gotten reports in Kings Landing when she’d been there, but they’d been confused and muddled. She wondered if going to Westeros was a mistake. She didn’t know where her mother was. Where Robb was. Where Arya was. Bran and Rickon were still at Winterfell, in all likelihood, but for how much longer?

If Sansa agreed to let Ser Jorah give Viserys to Robert, he would be killed. If she didn’t, and they went North without a pardon for Ser Jorah, he would be killed. Neither of these would make Daenerys happy, Sansa thought, but by now Daenerys was Cersei’s captive and likely being tormented by Joffrey as Sansa herself had once been. Beaten by Joffrey’s toadies. 

As much as Sansa could not bring herself to like Daenerys, she felt sorry for her. Cersei had beheaded Daenerys’ closest friend right in front of her. She must feel something similar to what Sansa had felt, being the captive of her enemy. But it couldn’t be the same, not really. Daenerys knew Missandei was alive somewhere in Essos, whereas Sansa had watched her father die. 

And now it was done. Again. Sansa felt fresh grief wash over her in waves. It felt as if it had just happened, as if the pain was new again. Just a day ago, he’d been alive. 

Maybe they should go to Castle Black. By now Uncle Benjen was lost already, and Jon might be ranging by the time they got there. But Castle Black received news, didn’t they? 

But of course it couldn’t be any safer there for Ser Jorah. Not unless he turned over Viserys. 

Sansa really didn’t owe Daenerys anything. Maybe before she had, but not now. Now they were thrown back in time to the beginning, and there were no debts between them. If she allowed Ser Jorah to turn over Viserys, he could be free to take Sansa across Westeros to find her family. 

But it felt wrong. Viserys was angry, raging, ranting, but he’d been through much the same as Sansa herself. Parents killed, brother killed, home taken. Perhaps he should not have taken his rage out on his sister, and there was no possible excuse for selling her, but Sansa could understand his anger. 

Daenerys must have loved him. She’d named her dragon after him. The dragon that had been killed and taken by the Night King. 

Aside from all that, Sansa hurt for him. She had long since learned that being beautiful was not the same as being good. She had once equated the two, and she knew now that was a terrible mistake. So Viserys’ gaunt but nonetheless stunning beauty was not what made her hesitate. It was his pain. The anguish that seeped from him and made her feel strangely connected to him, because it was the same pain. He wanted to go home. He wanted to avenge his family and take back their rightful seat. 

He had told her that his mother had crowned him king after his brother died. That Aerys had suspected his son Rhaegar was trying to usurp him, and had passed over his children in the line of succession. 

Did that matter? No, none of it did. The Targaryens were deposed. They’d have to take the throne back by conquest if they wanted it. 

Even if Sansa told Jon about his parents, she doubted he would join a war for the throne. Not if he’d already sworn his vows to the Nights Watch. 

Sansa had no intention of telling Viserys. He might try to murder Jon. She felt sorry for his pain but she didn’t trust him. She did not believe he’d handle another person with a claim to the throne any better than Daenerys had. Worse, maybe. Daenerys had stayed to fight the dead, and had loved Jon. Viserys had no love for Jon, and might harm him. 

She couldn’t agree to Ser Jorah’s plan, she decided. Viserys may be a terrible brother, but that was between him and Daenerys. Still, she had to devise another plan, that would keep them all safe. Ser Jorah kept insisting that Ned Stark would behead him, but Sansa knew, with a heavy heart, that her father was dead. If she couldn’t get to her mother and Robb in time, they’d be dead too. 

Ser Jorah had convinced the ship’s captain, bribed him no doubt, to land in Gulltown, instead of White Harbor. They’d be landing in another day or two. Sansa would have to dye her hair again, and Viserys would too. If he could keep his mouth shut and not tell people he was the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, they might be able to make their way across the North without notice. 

As much as it grieved her, Sansa knew they could not go to Winterfell as she’d hoped. She sat on the bed in her cabin and shivered. If she’d left right away, could she have saved father? 

Probably not, she told herself. He would have been in Kings Landing by the time they landed in Westeros anyway. 

She laid down, weak with sadness. She would try to come up with a plan later. 

Right now, she just wanted to grieve losing her father again. 

Ned 

The Great Hall had been laid out with food, and Ned presented Stannis and his wife with salt and bread, to extend Guest Right. They accepted, and sat at the table. They’d brought a small retinue, including a woman dressed in red, who kept looking over at Jon and Daenerys in a manner that made Ned uncomfortable. Stannis had introduced her as Lady Melisandre. 

“If I’d known you would be coming, I’d have had a feast prepared,” Ned told Stannis. 

“No need,” Stannis said brusquely. “I came to discuss something with you.” 

Ned sighed. “Go on.” 

“It’s better if we speak privately,” he said. “This is a grave matter.” 

Ned had thought as much, but he nodded and continued to eat his supper. 

He thought it strange that Stannis had also brought his daughter Shireen, who was sitting with Arya and Daenerys. They were talking to her, and Ned was glad to see they were trying to make her feel welcome. 

After supper, he and Stannis retired to Ned’s solar, along with Lady Melisandre. 

“My brother expects me to bring him the Targaryen girl,” Stannis said. “He said you and he had a falling out over it.” 

“We did. I told him I’d have no part in it.”

Stannis nodded. “I’ve done all my brother has ever asked of me. Until now.” 

Ned’s eyes shot to his face. “You don’t intend to follow through on his order?” 

“My brother is in a dangerous position. Jon Arryn and I were investigating Robert’s bastards. They all have his black hair. His blue eyes. You’ll note my daughter does as well. Yet none of his children do.” 

Ned hesitated. “You think Jon Arryn’s death has something to do with that?” 

“I think it’s odd he suddenly died while investigating it. Don’t you?” 

Ned frowned. Catelyn had received a letter from her sister Lysa intimating that the Lannisters had killed her husband. 

And Jon had said...

“Cersei’s children are bastards,” Melisandre said. “They are the children of her brother.” 

Ned ran a hand through his hair. “If we tell Robert, there’s a chance the Lannisters will kill him too,” Ned said. Jon had said as much. “And if not, Robert will kill those children.” 

Stannis nodded. “You may be right. So what do we do, then? Nothing? Simply allow such dishonor to -“

“My son and daughter have told me that there are dangers far greater, North of the Wall, that must be dealt with before we can even begin to consider what can be doneh about Robert and the legitimacy of his children,” Ned said.

“Your son,” Melisandre repeated, and a smile slid across her lips. “And your daughter.” 

Ned turned to her. “Yes,” he said. Something in her gaze made him uneasy. 

“I’d like to speak with them,” Melisandre said. 

Ned hesitated. “What is it you want to speak to them about?” 

“I won’t harm them. I just wish to have a few words with them.”

Ned glanced at Stannis, but his cold gaze offered no emotion, as ever, and he turned back to Melisandre. 

“What is it you wish to discuss with them?” He repeated.

“The night is dark and full of terrors,” she told him. “They know. They know what’s coming. I must speak with them of it.” 

This didn’t make Ned feel any better, but he went into the hall to send for them. They came in a few minutes later, and both of them regarded Melisandre with wary expressions. 

She approached Daenerys, staring into her face.

“Most interesting,” She said. “Do you know how this happened to you?” 

Daenerys glanced at Ned, and must have seen by his expression that he hadn’t said anything, because she turned back to Melisandre. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean.”

Ned looked at Stannis, who was frowning. 

“This is Lady Melisandre,” Stannis told Jon and Daenerys.

“They know who I am,” she said. She smiled again. “And I know who they are.” She turned back to them. “Fear not. I mean neither of you any harm. I don’t see it all as clearly as you have. Only images in the flames.” 

“What is it you want?” Daenerys asked her.

“Many mistakes were made. By myself. By you. By him.” She indicated Jon. “By all of us. We were lost.”

“The Long Night ended,” Jon said. 

“At what cost?”

“The cost was necessary,” Jon responded. 

“Was it? And all that led up to it? And what came after? A continent in ruin. There’s so much more that we didn’t know. I still don’t see it all, but I’ve seen more in my flames than before.” 

“If the Long Night ended, then what is it you say is coming?” Stannis demanded impatiently. 

“It’s a thing that will come to be,” Melisandre said. “And if it happens again as it happened before, all is lost.” 

“All wasn’t lost,” Daenerys said. “The Night King was destroyed.” 

“And then the continent fell all the same,” Melisandre said. 

Daenerys frowned. “No, it didn’t.” 

“It did,” Jon said, his face darkening. “But how did you see? You were gone already.” 

Melisandre smiled sadly. “I saw it in the flames.” 

Ned was getting impatient, and he could see that Stannis was as well. 

“Tell them what you need to tell them,” Stannis snapped at her.

“It won’t be long now before the red star bleeds,” she told Daenerys. “Dragon’s breath. You know what this means. Your stone children will be here soon. You know the way.” She turned to Jon. “When she returns east, you must return north. You need not make any vows to them. But as the king beyond the Wall gathers his forces, you alone know what needs to be done.” She turned then to Ned. “Your boy will need to learn how to control the Raven. Or the Raven will control him. If that happens, this continent may well be ashes again. And your youngest girl...she’s already learning what she must.” 

Ned looked at her in confusion, but nodded. He could see Jon and Daenerys understood whatever the cryptic little speech meant, he would ask them later. He turned back to Stannis. “What do you intend to do about the Targaryen girl?” 

“My brother never forgave me the last time I let her and her brother get away. Melisandre has said if I bring her to Robert, the Long Night will never end. I have a duty to him, but I have a duty to the world as well. My brother never once thanked me for doing my duty to him. Perhaps my duty to the world is the greater.” 

Ned was relieved to hear this. “You’ll leave her alone?” 

“I’ll say she got past me. But a warning, Lord Stark. My brother will not rest until he sees the girl and her brother dead. It will make a kinslayer of him, and he’d make one of me as well. You’ve been a brother to him. I’ll note he asked you to be his Hand and not me,” Stannis spoke this last with bitterness. “You’ll exercise caution, I expect.” 

“I will. Thank you.” 

“My daughter,” Stannis continued. “Lady Melisandre says she must stay in a place far from where I am. Something in her flames she saw, suggested that the girl will not be safe. She’s often sad, quite lonely. I thought you might foster her for some years.” 

“Did she tell you what it was she saw?” Jon suddenly demanded, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. 

“I didn’t see exactly what the danger is,” Melisandre said. “Only that there is danger.” 

Ned could swear Jon looked angry. 

“Aye, there is,” he said. “You’re right to leave her here with us.” 

“We’d be happy to have her here,” Ned said quickly, concerned at Jon’s enraged expression. 

“I thank you for that,” Stannis said. 

Ned stood on the covered bridge with Cat, watching the children play below. They were half playing, in truth, half practicing. Shireen had taken some time to fit in with the children, but Daenerys and Arya had made a point to be kind to her, to draw her out, and now they were helping her learn to swing a wooden practice sword. 

“I don’t know whether to be happy or disappointed,” Cat said. 

“About?” 

“Sansa. She was always such a lady. A born lady, truly. But she’s forgotten all her good manners. I suppose she’s trying to learn again, and I must say she’s even better now on the harp than she was before. But it’s as if she never learned embroidery at all. Arya is better than she is now.”

Ned sighed. “She’ll be all right,” he said. 

“I’m sure she will. But I’m concerned. All that aside, she’s better with the children than she ever was. I’m pleased to see how well she and Arya get along. Septa Mordane is more frustrated with her than she’s ever been, and yet, but I can’t say Sansa has been disrespectful. She’s eager to learn again. I wish I knew what happened to her.” 

“She’s going through a phase,” Ned said vaguely, watching as Old Nan walked outside with Hodor and little Rickon, and a wildling woman Robb and Theon had captured named Osha. The boy rushed over to Daenerys and asked her if she would finish some story she’d started telling him the night before, and she grinned, picking him up and holding him, resting him on her hip. 

“I’ll finish it tomorrow,” she promised him. “Tonight, Old Nan promised to tell us about the Others.” 

“I can tell you a bit about the Others,” Osha said. 

“We’d love to hear that,” Daenerys told her. 

Daenerys moved back to stand with Osha, Hodor and Old Nan, as she was still holding Rickon and the other kids were swinging wooden swords. 

Jon had stopped, and was staring at her holding Rickon.

“What is going on with Jon and Sansa?” Cat demanded suddenly, and Ned turned to her sharply. 

“What do you mean?” 

“She’s agreed to practice more with her embroidery if I agreed to be kinder to him, you know this. But she looks at him as if...as if she fears him. Or hates him. And sometimes he looks at her in a way I don’t like.”

“How?” 

“As if he...longs for her. I don’t like it,” she repeated. 

Ned frowned. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said, but made a note to himself to speak to Jon about it. 

Sansa

At last, they landed at Gulltown. It would be a trek to Castle Black, and Sansa felt sure that was the best place to go. Jorah was quite displeased with this, as his father would be there, and Sansa sympathized, but it was the best place they could go right now. Robb and mother would have already left Winterfell, and she couldn’t be sure exactly where they were. Ser Jorah told her again that she should sell her dragon eggs, but Sansa knew she’d best not do that. They’d needed Daenerys’ armies and dragons in the Long Night, and if Sansa sold these eggs, who could say whether she’d ever be able to get new ones, much less hatch them? 

Sansa would look at the eggs sometimes, to see if there were signs of life, but no, they were only dead stone. Beautiful, but dead. 

She and Viserys had dyed their hair, and as much as she could see it galled him, Viserys allowed Jorah to do all the speaking to anyone they passed, keeping his lilac eyes downcast. Ser Jorah had managed to get horses and some fried meat for the trip, and they started riding North.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, Dany and Sansa meet.

Daenerys 

It was chillier than those first few days since Dany had woken up in Sansa’s body. The snap of cold in the mornings stayed longer into the day, and the evenings came a little sooner. Ned had said over the next few years, the sun would set earlier and earlier, and it would get colder still. Dany remembered. It would be dark when they had supper and the ground would be covered with snow. 

_And I’ll be gone from here, in Essos,_ she thought. Would she have to come back? Maybe not. If Jon and the North could get ready sooner, if the free folk were brought south before the Night King killed and enslaved them, if they could make the people in the other kingdoms aware of the threat and prepare fully, maybe they would never need her armies at all. Her quest for the throne had only brought her heartache. 

She had no reason to ever return. She had to remind herself of this a few times a day. 

She had to remind herself when Bran and Arya refused to speak to Tyrion Lannister, because they were angry at him for whatever he’d done to upset her. When Robb had told Tyrion that he’d best not hurt her, or Robb would kill him with his own hands.

She had to remind herself when little Rickon started following her around on his shaky little legs and asking her to sing to him or to tell him a story. 

She had to remind herself when Shireen latched herself to her side, and said she wished she and Arya were her sisters. 

She had to remind herself when she would sit with this family to break their fast in the morning, or over supper, and they’d talk about their day and what they did, something they learned, or stories they’d heard that made them laugh. 

She had to remind herself that they weren’t truly her family, that they only treated her like a beloved family member because they believed she was Sansa Stark. 

_But Jon is my family_ , she thought. Yet he’d murdered her because his protection was for the Starks, not for her. 

_Shireen is my family, too_ , she thought. A distant cousin, but still a cousin. 

Not that it mattered. 

At least she was trying not to let it matter. If she had to, she would return and fight for them. Whether she liked it or not, even if they hated her, she knew she could not let them die. 

She continued practicing, continued her lessons. She’d promised Ned she would try to be obedient and pay attention to the Septa, and she’d promised Catelyn she would try again to learn embroidery and play the harp and draw.

And then she went riding with the Starks and Theon, and sometimes Shireen would join them as well. 

Shireen would occasionally have nightmares, and she would run into Dany’s room crying. Dany would soothe her. 

“I dreamed about dragons,” Shireen told her one night, and Dany’s hand, stroking her hair, froze.

“Dragons?” 

“They were coming to eat me,” the child whimpered. 

Dany resumed stroking the girl’s hair. “That won’t happen,” she assured her. 

“How do you know?” 

“I just...do. The dragons won’t hurt you.” 

Shireen looked uncertain, but she fell asleep in Dany’s bed. 

Rickon told her that if father hadn’t come back, mother would have left, too. 

“They’d never come back,” he told her sadly. 

Daenerys wondered at these children and their dreams. How much they knew, but didn’t know. 

She’d never met Rickon or Shireen, they’d been long dead when she set her foot on Dragonstone.

She had become attached to them, to all of them, and she was angry at herself for it. 

Bad enough when she’d loved Jon alone and he’d been ready to abandon her. Now she loved an entire family who would see her as an enemy. 

She walked outside, in the early dawn, shivering a little. 

She wondered if it was early enough to go riding. Early enough to make it back before anyone woke. 

But no, Robb was up, and smiled when he saw her. 

She’d have to wait. 

But that afternoon, she went with Robb and Jon, Theon, and the children. 

They brought their wolves, and Dany had to own that she loved it, loved them, and she had only herself to blame. They stopped in a glade, to rest and have some bread and cheese, to talk about how little time they had before winter came, and Lady suddenly stood at attention.

“What’s wrong, girl?” Dany asked, ruffling the fur behind her ears. 

Lady turned to her then, licked her face, then her fingers...as if assuring her...

“She loves you,” Robb said, grinning. 

“She wants you to know it,” added Bran. 

Dany looked at Lady, who was looking out into the woods, then back at her, giving her one more lick across her face, then shot out into the woods. 

“Lady!” Dany stood. _What is she doing?_

She started to mount her horse, and was grateful to see the others doing so as well. Summer, Nymeria, Ghost and Grey Wind had taken off after Lady. 

Sansa 

It was getting chillier, and Sansa was glad Ser Jorah had gotten them furs at Gulltown. They’d stopped near a stream to refill their skins, and Viserys was complaining about the cold. 

Sansa was trying not to snap at him. In Essos, he’d complained about the heat, now he was angry about the cold, and she wondered if he was ever happy. For her, the air smelled like home, and her chest hurt, full of memories and aching loss. 

“We’ll have to stay in the woods now, we’re getting close to Winterfell,” Ser Jorah said. 

_Winterfell,_ Sansa thought longingly. She wished they could go right now, rush into the halls and stay there. But it wasn’t safe now...was it? Were Bran and Rickon still there? 

Ser Jorah suddenly grew still, his eyes widening, and even Viserys looked afraid. 

She turned to see what it was...and then stood for a minute, disbelieving. 

“It’s huge,” Viserys whispered. “What kind of wolf -“

“It’s a direwolf,” Ser Jorah said. 

But it wasn’t only a direwolf, it was _Lady! My direwolf,_ Sansa thought, and started toward her. 

“Khaleesi,” Ser Jorah’s voice was heavy with warning. 

“Dany, don’t,” Viserys added, panic in his voice. 

But Sansa didn’t listen, couldn’t listen, she rushed to Lady and dropped in front of her, hugging her, kissing her pretty face. 

“Lady,” she sobbed, she hadn’t even known she was crying, “How?” 

From the dense trees behind Lady, Sansa saw Nymeria, then Ghost, and Summer and Grey Wind, padding toward her and sitting down. 

“Khaleesi, you need to -“ Ser Jorah’s voice broke off when he saw horses emerge from the woods, and Sansa desperately wanted to run to them, to hold them, the riders... _Robb, oh, gods, alive and..._ Bran riding, but wasn’t he already injured? And Arya, so little and curious, And Theon, a girl she didn’t recognize with scars covering one side of her face...and Jon...and herself. 

Her own face. 

_Daenerys. It’s Daenerys._

Lady ran to Daenerys, licked at her fingers, then ran back to Sansa. 

Sansa stood slowly, still staring, and Daenerys was staring back...but then she saw Ser Jorah, and Viserys. Daenerys’ eyes grew wider, then turned back to Sansa.

“Lady likes you,” Robb said, grinning at her, then glanced at Daenerys. “Do you know her?” 

She nodded. “I do,” she managed. 

Sansa walked to her sack, reaching in and pulling out the wooden box that Illyrio Mopatis had given her. 

She brought it to Daenerys, who had dismounted, and handed it to her. 

“These are yours,” she said. _In exchange for not murdering my family._

“Khaleesi,” Ser Jorah hissed. 

“What are you doing?” Viserys demanded. “Don’t give them to her!” 

Robb and Jon had dismounted as well, as was Theon. 

Daenerys was holding the box, she knew what was in it. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

“What is it?” Arya asked. 

“This is very odd. How do you know each other?” Robb asked. 

“It’s a complicated story,” Jon put in. 

Bran and Arya had gotten down from their horses and rushed to Daenerys, and were both looking at her expectantly. 

Daenerys sighed, then smiled at them and opened the box. 

Arya gasped. “It’s dragon eggs!” She shrieked. 

“Yes,” Daenerys said, looking at the eggs tenderly. She closed the box. 

“Why would you give Sansa dragon eggs?” Theon demanded, looking at Sansa suspiciously. 

“Sansa,” Ser Jorah repeated. “You’re the Starks.” 

“They won’t hurt us,” Sansa said quickly. 

“Ned Stark -“ 

“Ned Stark is dead,” Sansa said, the grief rising into her throat and almost choking her. 

“No, he isn’t,” Arya said, looking at her in horror. “Where did you hear that?” 

“He...isn’t?” 

“Why would he be?” Robb asked, studying her. 

“Robert...and then Cersei...and Joffrey...” Sansa said in a rush. 

“Sansa convinced our father to come home,” Jon said, carefully, slowly, enunciating every word as if he could slap her with them. “She saved Lady, too.” 

Sansa stared at him, then looked again at Daenerys, who was in turn staring at Ser Jorah, then Viserys. 

“Father...your father...is home...back at Winterfell?” Sansa asked in a small voice. 

“He is,” Robb said, his expression gentle but confused. “Are you...” he had noticed her eyes. Those purple eyes. “You’re Daenerys Targaryen, aren’t you?” 

“And your mother too?” She demanded. “She’s at Winterfell?” 

“She is,” Robb said. 

Sansa was staring at him. His face she’d longed for, and Bran, _walking,_ and mother and father were alive at home and Theon...she felt dizzy, suddenly, then swayed, the corners of her vision darkening. She’d dropped into a faint, feeling Ser Jorah’s arms catching her before everything went dark.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets to see Winterfell and her family again.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting, your support means so much to me.

Jon 

Sansa had fainted, overwhelmed, Jon supposed. At first he’d thought that meeting had switched the two women back into themselves, but Daenerys was standing, staring at Ser Jorah and the man with them, a man with lilac colored eyes, who Jon assumed must be Viserys, particularly when he turned to Daenerys, eyes blazing angrily. 

“Why would she give you her dragon eggs?” He demanded. 

Daenerys shook her head as if trying to pull herself back into the moment. 

“I’ll give them back to her. When the time comes.” 

Jorah had lifted Sansa, was holding her and eyeing them warily. 

“My father won’t harm you,” Robb said. 

“I find that hard to believe,” Jorah snapped. 

“Your father was one of the usurper’s dogs,” Viserys stormed. “He would have slaughtered us as children -“

“That’s not actually true, Viserys,” Daenerys told him, and Jon thought her voice was admirably calm. 

“What do you know about it? You’re his daughter, just one of his little bitches, of course he told you -“ he was cut off by Robb, punching him in the face. 

“How dare you!” Viserys all but screamed, stumbling back. 

“You will not address my sister that way,” Robb said icily, and for a moment Jon thought Daenerys might laugh, as if hysteria was bubbling just beneath the surface of her calm demeanor. 

“My lord father has given his word not to harm you, and he doesn’t break his word,” she said, her tone holding such fierce authority that Viserys was quiet for a moment, assessing her.

“How is it your lord father knows we’re here?” Jorah asked. 

“Varys told Robert, and Robert told my father. I believe you know quite well how Varys found out.”

She’d spoken gently to Jorah, but he flushed. 

“We thought you were landing at White Harbor,” Robb added. “And we expected you in another fortnight.” 

“It’s best if you come with us,” Jon said. “You will not come to any harm.” 

“Your father intended to behead me when last we spoke.” 

Jon remembered talking with Jorah in the cold wind North of the Wall. 

_He had the right of it_ , Jorah had said. _Not that it made me hate him any less._

This was a dangerous situation. He glanced at Daenerys, wondering what she was thinking. This man was one of her dearest friends, and she’d watched him die when she saw him last. And her brother...

Jon ached for her, and in that moment he loved her more than he ever had before, maybe more than anything he’d ever loved. 

When he had seen Uncle Benjen, when he’d seen father, Robb, all of them, he’d been free to rush to them, embrace them.

Sansa had fainted, overwhelmed.

Yet here Daenerys stood, and she must want to launch herself into Jorah’s arms, to say something, anything, to her brother. He’d seen her smile when she’d shown Bran and Arya the dragon eggs. 

Calm, so calm. 

“Are you all right?” He asked her.

She nodded. Then sighed, turning to him. She looked concerned, but that was the extent of it. She moved closer to him. 

“Your father promised me safety, and she’s his daughter,” she murmured, softly, so that only he could hear. “I don’t know what he’ll do about Ser Jorah, we weren’t expecting him and we certainly weren’t expecting my brother. I don’t want to endanger them, nor do I want to endanger your family by bringing them to Winterfell without his permission.”

Robb had approached them. “What is it?” 

“Father said he would keep Daenerys safe, he wasn’t expecting Viserys or Jorah,” Jon said. 

“I think it’s best to bring them to Winterfell and present it to father,” Robb said.

Dany shuddered a little, then nodded. “All right.” 

Robb turned then to the two men. “You’ll come with us. Father will not harm you. He’ll at least give you an opportunity to have your say.” 

Jorah looked skeptical, and Viserys looked outraged. 

“To go to the home of the usurper’s -“

“Stop calling Robert the usurper out in the open like that,” Daenerys commanded him. “And keep your eyes down. They’ll be noted and you’ll get yourself and maybe the rest of us killed.” 

“You should know I am the rightful King of the Andals, the -“

“Nobody in the North gives a fuck about that, I promise you,” Daenerys told him, “and if you keep saying it, you may as well just stab yourself right now and save someone else the trouble.” 

She glanced at Jon, and he could see a flash of it again; the control to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the situation. 

In truth, Jon had felt it himself. He’d almost laughed. 

_She knows from experience,_ Jon almost said. And a wave of rage at the ingratitude of his people, and rage at himself, swept through him. 

Jorah was carefully trying to lift Sansa onto his own horse, but she came to, looking around. 

“It’s real,” she whispered. “They’re all alive?” 

“They are,” Jon told her. 

She looked dazed, but got onto her own horse, and they started riding back. 

“I thought Targaryens had silver hair,” Bran said. 

“My great grandmother was a Targaryen, and none of us have silver hair,” Shireen piped in. 

“Your great grandmother was a Targaryen?” Viserys demanded with such ferocity that Shireen rode closer to Daenerys, as if for protection. “Who was she?” 

“Her name was Rhaelle,” Shireen said softly, and she looked scared. 

“You’re a Baratheon,” Viserys hissed. 

“And she’s your own kin, so stop scaring her,” Daenerys told him. “I know terrifying your kin is a hobby of yours, but I’ll not have it, do you understand?” 

They rode in silence for a bit, and Jon thought this whole thing would have been far better if the children had been at home. 

He knew Arya could be trusted not to say anything. Bran...possibly...Shireen he didn’t know at all. 

He glanced at Daenerys. He knew she must be troubled. But she was talking to Shireen and Arya. Smiling at them. How could she be so reassuring, when she must have such turmoil inside her? 

Sansa 

She could hardly contain her excitement. She would see mother again, and father. Little Rickon. They were all alive. If what Jon said was true, Daenerys had saved them. And Lady, too. 

_Because she wanted her eggs back_ , Sansa thought. But no. Sansa had said in her letter that she would throw the eggs into the sea if Daenerys herself harmed them. She didn’t have to save them from anyone else. 

But of course, had things gone as they had the first time, Daenerys would be a prisoner. She’d only saved them to prevent it, Sansa reasoned. 

_But she saved Lady. Jon said she saved Lady._

She didn’t have to do that. 

Sansa looked over at her, how unnerving to look at her own face, her own body. She was talking to Arya and the other girl...it must be Shireen Baratheon. Sansa had heard the girl had had greyscale as a child.

_Why is Shireen Baratheon here?_

Viserys rode closer to her. 

“Why did you give a _Stark_ your dragon eggs? This is what I mean about you. You’re so stupid.” 

“She’ll give them back,” Sansa said. _When she has her own body._

“If you believe that, you’re a little fool. The Starks cannot be trusted.” 

Sansa wanted to snap at him, but hadn’t she felt the same about Targaryens? 

She wanted to point out that the Starks were offering them protection, and Viserys was being a mistrustful ingrate...but she’d done the same thing to Daenerys. 

And Sansa _still_ didn’t trust her motives. Why was she talking to Arya? Likely trying to win her over. 

But that didn’t make sense either. Daenerys was in Sansa’s body. She couldn’t win Arya over, she could only make Arya think she was having a closer relationship with Sansa. 

Sansa hurt now, thinking of when they were children, how they’d fought. 

_I called her Arya Horseface,_ Sansa thought. _Jeyne and I..._

Jeyne! Jeyne was alive too, and Septa Mordane and Maester Luwin. Jory Cassel and his father Rodrik, and Old Nan and Hodor...

“That red haired bitch said the North doesn’t care if I’m the rightful king,” Viserys interrupted her thoughts. 

Sansa looked at him, surprised. “Did she? Well it’s best to listen, then.” 

“They’d better care,” he snapped. “When I win back my throne -“ 

“ _If_ you win back your throne, which is by no means certain,” Sansa pointed out. 

“Because of _you_ ,” he hissed. “Running away from your husband like a coward.” 

“I notice you didn’t offer yourself up for marriage to gain an army,” she reminded him sharply. 

“You sound stupid. Again. Like always. This waste of space full of savages are not much better than the Dothraki, and they are all _my_ subjects. Torrhen Stark bent the knee to _my_ ancestor -“ 

“And your...our father threw it all away,” Sansa told him. 

He reached across and knotted his hand into her hair, twisting it, and Daenerys turned her destrier around, riding the horse between Sansa’s and Viserys’ so that he was forced to pull his hand back. 

“You need to stop,” she said. 

“She’s my sister and I’ll treat her as I see fit.” 

“No. You will not.”

“When I get my throne back -“

“So you keep saying, but you’ll not survive that long if you persist in this behavior. What kind of rotten king would you make, if that’s how you treat your sister?” 

“She disobeyed me! She ran from her husband. She’s a weak and spineless -“

“ _You are weak and spineless_ ,” Daenerys said, her voice low, reverberating with anger. 

Robb, Jon and Jorah rode near them now, watching them warily, and Viserys grew sullen. 

“You have no idea,” he told Daenerys. “Your just a spoiled little bitch and you have no idea what she and I have been through.” 

Daenerys glanced at him, and Sansa thought for a minute she would laugh, actually start laughing in her brother’s face. She didn’t, instead composing her features.

“What I know,” she said, “is that you’re here, on land you don’t know, with no armies and no allies as yet, and it appears you don’t know how to make allies, either.” 

“The common people pray for the return of their true king,” he told her. 

Her gaze was full of sadness then. “No, Viserys. I tell you this because I know it in my bones. _They don’t care._ What’s more, even if you saved their lives, they wouldn’t care. If you lost everything, and saved this continent. It wouldn’t matter.” 

“If I had an army -“

“They wouldn’t care if you had two armies.” 

“If I had a dragon -“

“Viserys, if you had _three_ dragons and the greatest army the world had ever seen, and treated them kindly and saved every one of their lives. They _would. Not. Care_.” 

“Then why should I treat them kindly?” 

“Because you have no army, no allies, no dragons, the sword you carry is borrowed, you don’t know how to use it, and you are fully at the mercy of the very man you keep insulting. Making you not a king, but a fool.” 

“Ned Stark supported the usurper -“

“You don’t even know him, and if you did you’d probably _still_ be too stupid to understand, but I swear it, you are wrong about him. If your father hadn’t murdered his father and brother, and acted like a _king_ instead of a _monster,_ maybe none of this would have happened.” 

“You’ve been fed the usurper’s lies -“

“Barristan Selmy himself said so, and he _loved_ Rhaegar,” Daenerys said. 

“When did you talk to Barristan Selmy?” Robb asked her. 

“It’s getting dark,” Jon said. “We should pick up the pace.” 

They rode in silence again, and Sansa went back to her musings. Soon she would see mother again, and the thought made her want to cry. 

By the time they reached Winterfell it was late afternoon, and Sansa rejoiced to see it again in its glory, before Theon and Ramsay and the Night King had broken it, smashed its glass garden, before any of that... _home_ , she was home, and all her family alive. 

It couldn’t _all_ be Daenerys’ doing, could it? 

They entered the hall and she saw father and mother, and she wanted to run to them, to hug them and never let go. 

Mother’s eyes turned glacial as she looked at them, but father... _he knows!_

She knew it, could see it in his eyes as he took her in. Those eyes narrowed when he saw Jorah. 

“I told them all to come,” Robb said quickly. “I thought you could at least hear them.” 

Father gave a curt nod. “Show them to their rooms and have food and water brought to them for baths. We’ll speak tomorrow.” He turned then to Sansa. “You and I may speak now.”

“You won’t harm her,” Jorah said. 

“No. You have my word on that.” 

He brought her to his solar, having two guards posted outside the door, and it looked just as it had all those years ago. 

“Daenerys Targaryen,” he said, looking at her.

She looked back at him. “It seems you know I’m not her.” 

He nodded. “I do.” And then he pulled her into his arms and she hugged him tightly. 

“I missed you,” she whispered. “I thought you were gone. By now you were already gone.” 

“I was so afraid you wouldn’t make it here, Sansa. Afraid something would happen to you.” 

Sansa regarded him tenderly as they sat down. “We weren’t even going to come here. We were going to Castle Black.” 

“Castle Black?”

“I didn’t know what I’d find here. So much happened. Horror after horror. I couldn’t be sure even Bran and Rickon were still here. Mother had left home and so had Robb. I wanted to get news first. To find out where they were. Robb went to war against the Lannisters after you died.” 

Father shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Sansa.” 

“I just...I’m so happy you’re here. You and mother, and...everyone. Everyone we lost.” 

“I’m happy _you’re_ here,” he said. 

“What happened? Why are you home?”

“I must credit Daenerys with that.” 

“I find it hard to believe it was her alone.” 

“On the contrary, Sansa, it was quite literally her actions that brought us back to Winterfell.” 

“Back to Winterfell?” 

“Robert asked me to be his Hand. She warned me against it, but I accepted and we left with him. Myself, Daenerys, Arya, Bran, and our party.” 

“Bran is riding now. He never fell.” 

“Neither Daenerys nor Jon told me specifics about Bran falling...but Jon mentioned it once.” 

“He was climbing. He fell off the side of a tower before you left.” 

Father leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I see. Yes. It was she who prevented that. Jon expressed gratitude to her for it, but...he’s very angry with you. Did you tell Tyrion Lannister about his parents?” 

She nodded, flushing. “I did.” 

“Why, Sansa?” 

“Daenerys told you. Of course she did. She told you about that, but did she tell you she burned Kings Landing?” 

“It was Jon who told me about that, not Daenerys. It was Jon who told me that she came here with armies and dragons to fight the dead, and our own people treated her harshly, that you complained publicly about feeding them and plotted against her the entire time she was here. That she was fighting to destroy the slave trade before she got to Westeros.” 

“Did Jon tell you that he killed her?” 

“He did. She didn’t tell me anything specific about the conflict between the two of you. She said if I went with Robert I would be killed and so would our family. She told me the dead were coming, and that Stannis Baratheon has obsidian at Dragonstone. Jon...he didn’t remember the things that happened at the same time you and Daenerys did. She convinced Uncle Benjen to bring Jon to Dragonstone to get the glass, because it kills the dead. Jon remembered later. 

“Daenerys told your mother she would kill herself and Joffrey if we made her marry him, and she not only saved Lady, but she rode out into the forest to bring back all three wolves. In fact, Sansa, the only things she told me, aside from her own identity and all these warnings, was that she burned Kings Landing.” 

“She told you that to threaten you.” 

“No, Sansa. She told me that, because I’d promised to protect her and she thought I should know about it before making such a promise.” 

“I imagine she told you we were all monsters to her, and she was an innocent -“

“No. The only person she referred to as a monster was herself, though she had some uncharitable things to say of Robert. I can’t say I blame her.” 

“And yet she told Viserys not to call Robert the usurper -“

“If she told Viserys that, it’s likely because you were all outside and it was unwise to say such things where anyone might hear them. She said it to me here in my own solar. Sansa, she only warned me about dangers, and that she burned the capitol. It was Jon who told me everything else. I know you must have a side in this. If you would be willing, I’d like to hear it.” 

Sansa swallowed hard against the painful thickness in her throat. 

“You brought us to Kings Landing, and mother arrested Lord Tyrion because she thought he’d tried to kill Bran. You spoke out against Joffrey after Robert died. You were arrested and killed. Arya escaped. I was kept as the Lannisters’ prisoner. Robb and mother went to war, and were murdered at Uncle Edmure’s wedding to Roslin Frey, by Roose Bolton. Everyone I loved died as honorable fools, everyone I trusted betrayed me. 

“By the time Daenerys arrived here, the North had suffered. Badly. We’d earned our independence, fought for it and won, and Jon just gave it up. I wanted to be good, I always wanted to be good. But everyone good, was foolish, and got themselves killed being _honorable._ Honorable but...not smart. 

“Petyr Baelish told me that everyone is my friend, everyone is my enemy. To fight every battle, every moment, and no one will surprise me. It seemed to me that behaving honorably only meant being meat for those who didn’t care for honor to butcher. You died. Mother died.” 

“And so you decided that honor is stupid.” 

“I _learned_ that honor is suicide when you’re forced to deal with people who have none.” 

Father nodded, and she could see he was trying to understand, but his disappointment in her actions was clear on his face. 

“I have always held that my life is not some precious thing to be valued above honor,” he said. 

“And so you died,” she shot back. “I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want to lose the independence we’d fought so hard for, that Robb _died_ for.” 

Father nodded. “I’m sorry you went through all that, Sansa. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I don’t know why this thing with you and Daenerys happened, or how, but there must be some meaning to it. Some purpose. In any event, I’ve promised my protection to Daenerys. As for Jorah Mormont -“

“He brought me here, risking his own safety to do so.” 

“Are you aware that he sold people to slavers? Two poachers, who -“

“Yes, I’m aware. He told me. But I know also he helped me, and I know that before, he worked beside Daenerys to destroy the slave trade. Daenerys’ brother...is not a good person. But he’s suffered terribly. I don’t know if he would have turned out so bitter and terrible if he’d had a better life.” 

“We must be cautious. Though it grieves me, you cannot call me father in front of others. It would not be safe for anyone to know that you and Daenerys are inhabiting one another’s bodies. Your mother doesn’t even know. And Sansa...I went to my grave with the secret of Jon’s parentage. You are not to tell anyone. Do you understand?” 

She nodded. “I do,” she said. “Jon is still angry at me.” 

“He is,” Ned said heavily. “I can only hope you and he will make peace.” 

“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.” 

“That’s right.” 

“Jon turned on me for her.” 

“That’s not what he said. He said he killed her to protect you. He said he will not make that choice again. He will stand with her. She could have murdered every one of us. You understand that, don’t you?” 

“I sent her a letter -“

“And I saw the letter. But she could have poisoned us all before that letter ever arrived. Instead she’s done everything she could to warn us and protect us. We do _not_ behave dishonorably toward people who protect us.” 

“So she’s won you over, too.” 

“Sansa, you’re my daughter. I love you with all my heart. You know that. But if what you say is true, I owe her my life, the lives of your mother and Robb, Bran’s ability to walk, and the life of your direwolf. I’ve only known the girl a few moons, and I already owe her more than I can ever repay her. And this, after my own children plotted against her. 

“And yes, I’ll admit I’ve grown attached to her. How not? She never once told me any of the wrongs my family did against her, nor did she tell me of the good she herself did, I had to hear it from Jon. And it sounds like she did a world of good, but rather than tell me a single thing to recommend herself, she released me from my promise of protection, and told me she burned the capitol. 

“She said she thought her entire life might be different, had I been her father instead of her own. She’s kind and honest, and eager to learn. She voices her opinion more decisively than I’m accustomed to, and she’s certainly willful. But she’s under my protection and I will not have us violate Guest Right. Can we agree on this?” 

Sansa nodded. “Yes. But I don’t trust her.” 

“I imagine that feeling is quite mutual. But I expect you both to treat each other with respect.” 

“I’ll treat her with respect so long as she does the same.” 

“That’s fine.” His face softened. “Tell me...are you well? I know you must have gone through a terrible experience.” 

“Not nearly so bad as before. Don’t trust the Boltons, father. Ever. Or the Freys.”

“Jon said the same. We’ll be careful. Jon and Daenerys have both said that the Others are real, and your Uncle Benjen confirmed it. He said there have been sightings. And while we were away, a wildling woman named Osha -“

“Yes,” Sansa said. “It’s all true. We fought them at Winterfell. Arya killed the Night King.” 

“Arya?” He nodded then. “That’s what she meant.” 

“Who?” 

“Jon said that Daenerys saved everyone, and she said it was Arya.” 

“It was. But...I suppose that would not have been possible without her armies and dragons.” 

“So it’s true about the dragons too.” 

“Oh, yes. Very true,” Sansa said, shuddering. 

“Did they hurt you?” 

“No. Jon rode one of them. I only saw two of them. I don’t know what happened to the third.” 

“Jon said one of them was killed by the Night King when she went North of the Wall to rescue him.” 

Sansa frowned. “He never told me that.” 

“They squabbled about it. Apparently he said he bent the knee to save the North.” 

“That’s exactly what he said. But I didn’t believe it. I thought he bent the knee because he loved her. Men do stupid things for women.” 

“If what they said is true, she lost everything, so it appears women do their share of stupid things for men, too.” 

“Who manipulated whom?” Sansa said softly, bitterly. 

“Pardon?” 

“It’s something she said to me.” 

“I see. Well, I imagine you must be tired and hungry. I’m glad you’re home.” 

“I am too. Even more glad everyone is still alive.” 

She was shown to her room, and what she wanted was her _own_ room. But she knew Daenerys was likely using it, and it would seem odd if they switched. 

Her mother entered, and it was all she could do not to rush into her arms, inhale her scent, cry on her shoulder. 

But the look in her blue eyes was not the look of her mother. She was looking at her as she’d looked at Jon, or worse.

“You know your presence is a danger to all of us,” she said coldly. “My husband has commanded that we will protect you, and I must do as he asks. But you are a selfish and terrible person, to endanger _my children.”_

Sansa swallowed a gasp, and nodded at her. “I hope not to stay long,” she said.

“I hope the same. It’s not the fault of my children and household that your father was a deranged madman.” She indicated one of the dressers. “There are clothes for you there. A bath will be sent up. Please try to make yourself as scarce as possible.” 

She turned and left the room, and Sansa sat in the bed, shaking, and then fell against the pillows and let herself cry. 

Daenerys 

Viserys was alive. Ser Jorah was alive, but that she’d expected, and it was difficult not to go to him, to tell him how happy she was to see him.

She’d not expected Viserys. Alive and pompous and foolish as he’d always been. She wondered if he might live this time. 

_Not if he insists on telling everyone he’s the king,_ she thought. She sat on her bed, and opened her box with the dragon eggs in them. She ran her fingers over them, feeling the heat rise up in them, as if in recognition. 

Just as Lady had known Sansa. Her heart ached as she remembered how the wolf had licked her first, before running to find Sansa. 

She loved the wolf now, and knew she’d have to surrender her to Sansa. But at least she could be sure that Lady loved her back. She’d allowed herself to love an entire family that wasn’t her own. 

But these eggs...these were her family. It hurt now to look at them, just stone, no life in them...but the heat under their shimmering scales responded to her touch. 

_How can I make them live?_

She knew that many saw them as monsters, as weapons, as testaments to her power...and yes, she’d used them in war.

But she _loved_ them. They were her children. 

When they were babies, she’d protected them. When they’d grown, they’d protected her. But there was love there, strong and thick and fierce. 

_They’re not beasts to me._

She regretted sharing them with Jon. He’d never tried to extend the same courtesy to her. She’d only met Ghost and Arya now, after she’d been killed _by him._

He’d only seen them as tools. As weapons. No doubt he felt no connection, and thought of them like a horse...and not in a respectful manner, not as the Dothraki viewed a horse. 

Just as a means, not an end in themselves. She ran her fingers lovingly over the eggs. 

“I’m sorry, my loves. I’m sorry I ever brought you here.” 

She was about to put the box away, when she heard a knock on her door, and Arya came in with Bran and Shireen right behind her. 

“Can we see the dragon eggs?” she asked. 

“Of course.” She patted the bed and all three children crowded around her to look. 

“They’re beautiful,” Shireen said. 

“Imagine If you could hatch them?” Arya asked. 

“I dreamed of them,” Shireen reminded her.

“I did too,” Bran added. “Dragons, real dragons. The same colors, too. The black one was the biggest.” 

Daenerys bit her lip. 

“If they hatch, will they eat us?” Shireen asked. 

“If they hatched, they’d be really little at first,” Arya said. 

“They would,” Daenerys agreed. “And they won’t hurt you.” 

“How do you know?” Shireen asked. 

_I’d raise them far from here,_ Dany thought. _And I’ll never let them hurt a child again._

She shuddered, the memory of Kings Landing haunting her like a hungry ghost. 

She would never forgive herself. Never. 

She couldn’t forgive Jon, either, because he’d abandoned her long before that. 

Because he’d told the North he had bent the knee to save them, to protect his own reputation, instead of the truth. 

Because he never tried to introduce her to Arya or Ghost.

Because he sympathized with Sansa’s mistrust, with the North’s mistrust, but was angry when she’d expressed suspicion about his parentage. She’d reminded him that this would make him a claimant to the Iron Throne, and he’d looked _disappointed_ in her. As if she only cared about the throne, when she was only trying to point out what motivation they might have to lie. 

Because he’d dismissed her fears when she’d warned him what Sansa would do. 

Because even after Sansa had done exactly as Daenerys said she would, and Varys had tried to poison her, Jon never once acknowledged that she’d been right. 

Because he made no attempt to comfort her after Missandei’s death, after Rhaegal’s death. To love her, not as a woman or as family. 

Because he’d sworn himself to her, kissed her, and then put a knife in her. While she was letting herself be open to him, trusting him, he’d slid the dagger into her heart. 

No, she could not forgive the weak and cowardly man he’d turned out to be. 

But she could not forgive herself, either. Those people in Kings Landing were scared and hungry. She’d spoken of how the people in Slavers Bay had risen up against the masters. But after all, she’d addressed them. Armed them. Infiltrated them. Let them know she was on their side. 

She’d not done the same for the people of Kings Landing. Her anger was at Tyrion, at Jon, at Sansa, at the ungrateful and ungracious North, and she’d taken it out on the frightened smallfolk, the very people crushed by the wheel she’d once sought to break. 

Instead of breaking the wheel, she’d _become_ the wheel and broken the people she wanted to liberate. 

She would never forgive it. But she wouldn’t let it happen again. 

“What’s wrong?” Arya’s voice interrupted her thoughts. 

“Nothing,” She said softly. “Nothing is wrong.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned tries to get Jon, Dany and Sansa to elaborate on their own sides in what happened to each other, in order to help them reach a common understanding.

Ned 

His head was aching. Sansa had told him her side of what happened, and he hurt that she’d gone through so much and he’d been unable to protect her. But her decisions had been questionable at best. 

And he was still disturbed by what Melisandre had said. The continent fell anyway, after the Night King’s defeat? And she’d said Bran had to control “The Raven”, or “The Raven” would control him. What did that mean? 

He’d spoken to Jorah, and much as he felt that honor demanded taking his head, the man had protected his daughter, and Sansa had told him that Jorah had helped Daenerys smash the slave trade in Essos. Ned had told him he could stay on at Winterfell but only for these reasons. 

He’d hoped that a night of sleep might refresh them, but found out upon waking that Sansa and Daenerys had likely gotten little sleep, as Lady had apparently spent the entire night going back and forth between their rooms.

Now Ned was sitting with his family as they broke their fast, and though he’d provided Jorah with food, he’d not invited him to dine with his family. 

He had invited Viserys; he could not give a good excuse to Catelyn or anyone else why he would invite one Targaryen and not the other, and he wanted Sansa to have at least the measure of comfort that came from being with her family. 

He hoped it wasn’t a mistake. 

Catelyn had glared at the Targaryens resentfully, and Sansa had stared sadly into her porridge. 

“Here, Sansa,” Cat said, handing Daenerys a plate laden with lemon cakes. “You look so pale. Have some of these.”

Daenerys thanked her graciously, then took two of the cakes and gave them to Sansa. 

“Try these. You love lemons, right? You’ll like these.” 

“Maybe she doesn’t like lemons,” Cat told her. “And I had them made for you.” 

Sansa was looking at the cakes and Ned thought she might start crying. 

He nodded approvingly at Daenerys; she knew from Cat that these were Sansa’s favorite, and had chosen to share them despite Sansa’s actions, and he was grateful to her for this kindness to his daughter. 

He opened his mouth to say something, anything that might comfort Sansa, who looked so hurt, but Shireen was looking at the cakes now, and Daenerys gave her one, then, after putting one on her own plate, started giving out the rest of them. 

Arya stared at her when she was given one. 

“Really? You’re going to let me have one of your lemon cakes? You never let me have them!” 

Sansa winced, as if remembering their squabbles as children.

“I hate lemons,” Viserys snapped at her when she tried to give him one. 

“There now, see? If he hates them, she probably hates them too,” Cat said, and Ned thought in horror that she was going to snatch them off Sansa’s plate. 

“She loves lemons, because she’s a little fool,” Viserys said. “We were forced to live in an ugly little house that had a wretched lemon tree outside, after our real home was taken from us. But her tiny little mind latched onto it, and she thinks it was home. It was never home. She doesn’t know any better.” 

Now Sansa and Daenerys stared at their plates with glassy eyes, and Ned feared they would both start crying. 

“Is there some reason you talk about your sister that way?” Robb demanded, glaring at Viserys. “She’s the only family you have.”

“She’s the only family I have, because of your filthy usurping false king,” Viserys stormed at him. “The usurper murdered my brother, had his wife and children murdered, and lauded the kingslayer who murdered my father.” 

“Your father -“

“Whatever you have to say about my father, if it’s followed by a defense of a man who would stab his king in the back, it’s meaningless. Does the same excuse cover murdering my brother’s wife? His children? They were babies! And the usurper would have killed us, too.” 

“That’s enough, all of you,” Ned told them all firmly. 

It was too early to be this exhausted. 

After they’d finished eating and the plates cleared, Ned asked to speak to Jon, Daenerys, and Sansa. They had to be given an opportunity to say what they wanted freely, but not before anyone else. 

They followed him to his solar, and then sat down looking at him. They looked so young to him, children still, yet they’d lived an entire life of war and loss and anguish. Inside, they were not children at all anymore. 

“All three of you have grievances against each other. I’d like to give you all an opportunity to air them here, rather than out in front of anyone else.” 

They glanced at each other, but remained silent. 

“Would you all prefer I leave? I could leave you alone together.” 

“I don’t trust her,” Sansa finally said, glancing at Daenerys.

“Likewise,” Daenerys said, not sparing Sansa a glance, keeping her eyes on Ned. “I’ll treat her with respect, as this is your home and you’ve protected me -“

“On the contrary, you have protected me and my family,” Ned told her. 

“You’re just going to add to her entitlement, saying things like that to her,” Sansa said. 

“My entitlement,” Daenerys said softly, shaking her head, her mouth forming a bitter ghost of a smile. 

“She was never the one who acted entitled,” Jon told Sansa. “That was you.” 

“You think I was entitled, but all I was trying to do was protect the North!” Sansa snapped.

“Protect the North? Is that what you were doing when you threw a tantrum because I brought Daenerys to Winterfell? If not for her, we’d have died.” 

“It was Arya who killed the Night King.” 

“Arya would have never gotten within a hundred feet of the Night King if Daenerys hadn’t brought her armies and dragons to thin out his army, Arya herself said so.” 

“You gave her our independence! You surrendered your crown! You said it was to save the North, but it was only because you loved her!” 

“It was because she had shown the kind of ruler she was. She didn’t have to save us, Sansa. She came North of the Wall and lost a dragon trying to rescue me and the rest of our party when we’d gone on a foolish excursion we never should have.”

“Maybe you should have told me that,” Sansa snapped. 

“How could I tell you that? That I’d given her the North voluntarily, when none of you could accept it, even in exchange for saving our lives, at great risk to herself and her armies? The North would have left, just like Glover did, and would have died. Every one of them. You and everyone else acted like spoiled ungrateful children.” 

“So you lied! And robbed us of an honest choice!” 

“Don’t talk to me about honesty! You, who lied when you swore to keep my secret under the Heart tree and broke your vow the same day! You who violated Guest Right, and -“

“Violated Guest Right?” 

“You plotted against her while she was a guest in our home!” 

Ned held up one hand, to silence them, looking at Daenerys. 

“You may speak your peace as well,” he assured her. 

“They’re your children. I don’t wish to hurt you. I can only say I never harmed any of your children.” 

“You took our independence!” Sansa said. 

Daenerys turned to her, almost unwillingly. “Your independence was given freely by your chosen king,” she said calmly. “I took nothing from you.” 

“You burned a city!” 

Daenerys winced. “Yes. And I regret that.” 

“Oh, you regret it -“

“But you sought to harm me _before_ I did that.”

“Because I knew you were just a killer!”

“You knew nothing of the kind,” Daenerys responded. “You cared only about your own position. Thats it. More than your brother, more than your family or your people. It was _all_ you cared about. Otherwise you’d have handled the entire situation more rationally and diplomatically.”

“As if you’d have let us be independent -“

“I would have, before Jon bent the knee to me. I wasn’t happy about it, but I promised to help Jon destroy the Night King and his army as soon as I knew they were real. I never harmed him for refusing to bend the knee to me, and I allowed the Iron Islands their independence.”

“When I told you that the North would never bow again, you were angry. I saw it on your face.” 

“Yes, I was angry. Because Jon had already pledged himself to me, and told Cersei as much. You wanted him to renege on a promise he had already made to me.”

“I had no reason to trust you!” Sansa said.

“And I had no reason to trust you, but I came to you and tried to make peace with you.” 

“So long as I bent the knee to you!” 

Daenerys sighed. “Your bending the knee was irrelevant. As much as you hate it, your people chose Jon, _not_ you, and he’d bent the knee.” 

“Why don’t we try this,” Ned began. “Each of you tell your own story, and no interrupting. Just...if you would...tell me what happened, the way you saw it.” 

“Who gets to speak first?” Sansa demanded. 

Ned sighed. “We can go in order of age. Or alphabetically.” 

“I don’t see why she should even get to tell her side,” Sansa said, glancing at Daenerys. “It will all be lies anyway and she’s not your child.” 

“I’m not his child either,” Jon said. “So I guess it’s only your side you think matters, and it’s you who are a liar, not her.” 

“She’s not our blood at all,” Sansa retorted. 

“She’s mine,” Jon shot back.

“If you’re willing, I’d like to hear all your sides,” Ned told them. “I want to understand what happened, so we can come up with a way to avoid it happening again. If you can each listen to each other, mayhaps you can reach an understanding yourselves.” 

“I think I should get to go first,” Sansa said. “I suffered more than both of them,” at this Jon made a scoffing sound, “and they’ve had all these moons to say terrible things about me.” 

“I’ve barely spoken of you at all,” Daenerys said. 

“I only spoke the truth,” Jon added. “If It was terrible, that’s because _you_ were terrible. But all right. Go on. Let’s hear it.” 

“Jon made stupid mistakes,” she began. 

“Oh, this should be interesting,” Jon said. 

“Sansa, let’s try not to word these experiences in such a fashion,” Ned said. His head was already pounding. “Tell your side, but rather than tell me Jon was stupid, tell me what he did that you considered mistakes. And Jon, when you tell your side, I will ask Sansa not to interrupt. I’m asking you to do the same.”

“I suffered,” Sansa said, “and the North suffered, at the hands of southern rulers. You know I made mistakes as well. I trusted Joffrey, I trusted Cersei. I trusted Lady Olenna and Margaery. I even trusted Lord Baelish for a time. Aunt Lysa. They all betrayed me. I loved you and I loved Robb, but you both made mistakes, and were both killed. I won the Battle of the Bastards. If I hadn’t brought the Knights of the Vale, we’d have lost and Jon would have died.” 

“You could have told me about them,” Jon interjected. 

“Jon, you’ll have your turn,” Ned said.

“I told him we didn’t have enough men. He was brave, but not wise. He said we would fight with the men we have. I knew it wasn’t enough, but I could not be certain that Littlefinger would come. I sent a raven and hoped. I told him Ramsay liked to play mind games, and would try to trick Jon into doing something stupid, and he did!

“After the battle, the Northern Lords came to Winterfell and they named him king, even though it was _I_ who saved them.

“He refused to strip Ned Umber and Alys Karstark of their lands and titles, so that there was no punishment for treason, no reward for loyalty. 

“We received a raven from Cersei demanding we bend the knee, but Jon was ready to ignore that. He was so centered on the enemy to the North, he completely forgot about the enemy to the South.

“Then he received a letter from Tyrion, telling him to come meet _her_ and help defeat Cersei. He’d gotten a letter from Sam Tarly telling him that there was dragonglass at Dragonstone, so he left us all to go there and convince her to fight beside us. 

“He came back with her, and had surrendered our independence like a _fool._ We didn’t know anything about her! And now he says it’s because he saw something in her, but that’s not what he told us. He told us he bent the knee to save us, and we knew nothing about her. 

“He could have sent a raven asking that we support her claim to the throne in exchange for her helping us defeat the Night King, which would have benefited her, too. Instead he _gave_ her the North. 

“The North didn’t want her! We wanted to be free. The North was taken from us, and we took it back. We swore we would never bow again. And after the war for the dead, she insisted we march to Kings Landing right away. Our men were exhausted, some of them were wounded, but she wanted to leave immediately. Then she burned Kings Landing after she’d already won.” 

Ned glanced at Jon, who looked angry, and was clearly straining to keep from snapping at her. He glanced next at Daenerys, who was studying Sansa. Ned frowned. Unless he was misreading her, she didn’t seem angry. She was _listening._

She caught his gaze. “I did burn Kings Landing, as I’ve told you,” she confirmed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were a tyrant,” Sansa snapped at her.

“I wasn’t. Not before that.” 

“You took our freedom.” 

“Jon freely surrendered it,” Daenerys repeated. “And I had no intention of attacking your _freedom._ In Essos, they call themselves the free cities. North of the Wall, they call themselves the free folk. Why? Because they have no king or queen at all. Did you do away with kings and queens after I died? No.” 

“Bran became king, by choice -“

“Bran?” Ned asked. 

“-and I became Queen in the North by choice.”

“Whose choice?” Daenerys asked. “The people’s? Or the lords and ladies? Or only the people gathered at the council, most of whom were his relatives? And who chose you? Did you come back North and have a vote?” 

“I was a Stark,” Sansa said. 

“So then the very same system that’s always been, which has nothing to do with choice.” 

“As if you would have done any different.” 

“I wanted to win back my home, the same as you. When I left Meereen, I didn’t continue to hold power over it, I left Daario Naharis to keep the peace while the people chose...”

She broke off, as both Jon and Sansa shuddered, and she looked at them expectantly. 

“Who is Daario Naharis?” Ned asked. 

“He’s...That is, he was...a friend of mine. He’s the captain of a sellsword company, the Second Sons. Well...he might only be a lieutenant now. Not captain yet.”

“He led an army to destroy all Seven Kingdoms,” Sansa said. 

“He did not!” Daenerys said, and now her eyes flashed angrily, her first show of emotion in this meeting. “That’s a lie! He never set foot in Westeros! He -“

“After you died,” Jon interrupted softly. “He came back here with the Dothraki and Unsullied. Some Volantene armies too. Drogon was with him.”

“Drogon?” She turned to Jon.

“Daario didn’t command him. I don’t think. But they all came together and razed Westeros. Killed everyone in Kings Landing. We got conflicting reports. Some said they destroyed all Seven Kingdoms, but others said Dorne was with them. I don’t know.” 

Daenerys’ eyes were wide. “ _Why?”_

“To avenge you,” Jon said. “When they came for me, I didn’t even fight them. I thought I had it coming.” 

Now Daenerys shuddered. 

“That’s what Melisandre meant,” Ned said. “When she said the continent fell anyway?” 

“It must be,” Jon said. 

“They were impervious to reason,” Sansa added. “They destroyed everything. They were so angry.” 

“How not?” Jon demanded. “The Unsullied should have killed me the minute I told them I’d murdered Daenerys. Grey Worm wanted to, I know that much.”

“They killed me too,” Sansa said, “and destroyed Winterfell. Drogon burned it to the ground. Burned the Godswood. Burned me. And those atrocious Dothraki -“

“The Dothraki are not atrocious,” Daenerys said sharply.

“Easy for you to say. You weren’t their enemy. And your husband is a _monster.”_

Daenerys sighed. “Their culture -“

“Their culture is savage,” Sansa snapped. 

“You know, it’s easy for you to say that of them,” Daenerys said, “but they gave up all raping and slaving when I led them. And you think your own culture is so much better, but I’ve been reading your books since I’ve been here. Do you know how your ancestors got their warg blood?” 

“Warg blood?” 

“By killing the warg king and his sons, and marrying his daughters. Do you think that was a happy marriage? It couldn’t possibly be. And what of the Children of the Forest?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Sansa said. 

“The Dothraki are at a primitive phase in their culture. I acknowledge that. But you’re acting as if their entire culture is trash, as if the primitive days of your own ancestors are any better.” 

“Should we talk of the primitive days of your ancestors?” 

“I’m very well aware of that as well now. In Valyria they were slavers. There are few things I despise in the world more than slavers. When I met Ser Jorah, he was exiled for slaving. When I first came upon the Unsullied, they were enslaved and they fought for slavers. The dragons of old were ridden by slavers. My oldest ancestors were slavers and when I met the Dothraki they were slavers. This is how I know change can occur. Because every one of these joined me in my fight to _destroy_ slavery.”

“And then you came here to demand everyone bend the knee.” 

Daenerys sighed again. “This isn’t the free cities. Westeros is a monarchy. Do you not expect your vassals to bend the knee to you?” 

“We were not your vassals.” 

“Yes, you were. As soon as your king bent the knee to me, you became my vassals. Once I had the throne, we could have negotiated -“

“You weren’t exactly open to negotiation by then,” Sansa responded.

“All right,” Ned said, “that’s enough. Was there anything else you wished to say?” He asked Sansa. 

She shook her head. “But I want to be given the chance to respond to what they say when they’re finished.”

Ned turned then to Jon and Daenerys. 

Jon was looking at Daenerys, as if waiting for her to begin telling her own side, but she didn’t, so he turned back to Ned. 

“Daenerys was not the one who acted entitled, that was Sansa,” he repeated. 

“Are you _and_ she going to tell _her_ side and attack me?” Sansa demanded. 

“I’m going to tell the truth, and if it sounds like an attack on you, and a defense of her, maybe you should examine why,” Jon said.

“Sansa, I asked Jon not to interrupt you. Now it’s his turn. Jon, tell me your version of what happened.” 

“I was murdered by my own men at Castle Black. I considered my watch to have ended. I was tired of fighting, and I couldn’t bring myself to stay there after my own men murdered me.”

“Murdered you,” Ned repeated. “If they murdered you, how -“

“Melisandre resurrected me.”

“From the _dead?”_

“Aye, from the dead. But in truth...it was as if I was still dead. Sansa came to Castle Black, and she wanted us to take back Winterfell. But as I said, I was fed up with fighting. All I’d done since I left home, was fight and fight, with no end. She and I, we thought we were the last of us. We said we never should have left Winterfell. And I felt...dead.

“Then we got a letter from Ramsay Bolton. He said he wanted Sansa back. And he had Rickon. Sansa said she wanted me to take back our home and save our little brother. That’s what she said. Save our little brother from a monster. 

“So we went from Northern house to Northern house, and no one wanted to help us. Sansa had pointed out to me that the free folk owed me their lives, and were beholden to fight for us. Funny, because she forgot all about that when the time came to fight Cersei for Daenerys. 

“But they did. The free folk agreed to fight for us, when most of the Northern houses refused. House Hornwood joined us, and House Mormont. Lady Lyanna Mormont wasn’t going to join us, but Davos Seaworth convinced her. The Karstarks were angry about what Robb did -“

“What did Robb do?” 

“He beheaded Rickard Karstark. And then the Umbers were angry at me because I let the free folk south of the Wall. They fought for Ramsay Bolton.” 

“Where was Roose Bolton?” 

“Dead. He’d legitimized Ramsay, and then Ramsay killed him.” 

“Gods,” Ned muttered.

“Houses Manderley, Cerwyn, and Glover stayed neutral. They didn’t want to fight beside free folk, they thought we’d lose, they had these grievances. Lady Mormont likely would have done the same. I was a Snow, and most of the North was none too pleased about my letting the free folk past the Wall, and they didn’t know I’d been murdered and brought back. To them, I suppose I was an oath breaker. 

“She brought up Sansa’s marriages -“

“Which were not my fault -“

“Marriages?” Ned demanded. 

“The Lannisters married me to Tyrion,” Sansa said. “He was kind to me and never made me consummate the marriage. But Ramsay...” she shuddered, and Ned felt rage bubbling in his chest. 

“They weren’t her fault,” Jon agreed. “Either way, Davos Seaworth convinced Lady Mormont to help us. Sansa keeps saying we took the North back. But we did it mainly with free folk and the Knights of the Vale. It wasn’t the North who took back Winterfell.

“After Sansa said repeatedly we had to save our little brother from a monster, she told me he was as good as dead. As a trueborn male Stark, there was no way Ramsay would let him live. 

“She never told me she was sending the raven to Baelish. Hundreds of free folk, and what few Northerners were loyal to us, and of course Rickon and I, were all ballast to her.”

“That’s not true!” Sansa argued.

“Isn’t it? You didn’t care if we died, you wanted to get the credit for saving the North.” 

“I did save the North! You should have been on your knees thanking me -“

“Funny, you didn’t seem to think Dany’s help warranted any knee bending.” 

“Let’s try to stay on track,” Ned interrupted. “Sansa, this is Jon’s turn.” He glanced at Daenerys, who was again just watching, listening to them. 

“After we won, we called the Northern Houses,” Jon continued. “We had Winterfell back, and I wanted to unite them against the army of the dead. Lord Royce said he didn’t want to fight beside wildling invaders. 

I remembered you, how you said we meet our true friends on the battlefield. I told them that. Lady Mormont named me her king...” Jon’s voice broke a little. “Then, the others did as well. It was the greatest honor of my life. I didn’t think I deserved it. I don’t think Sansa did either.” 

“I never said that!” 

“She publicly undermined me. She wanted to evict two _children_ from their homes and strip them of their titles.” 

“There should be some punishment for treason, and reward for loyalty.” 

“She said I needed to be smart -“

“I was trying to help you! Father and Robb made stupid mistakes and were killed for them!” 

“She wanted to do to these children what the Lannisters did to her. She chose to follow the example of Cersei and Baelish instead of you.” 

“Cersei and Baelish stayed alive,” Sansa said, her voice full of hurt. “Trusting people only ever led to betrayal. When everything started falling apart, honor wouldn’t have saved us.” 

“Nor did your dishonor,” Jon responded. “You were so worried about Cersei. You spoke as if you admired her.”

“I learned a lot from her.” 

“Aye, you did,” Jon said coldly. “Not anything about negotiations or proper handling of crucial allies, clearly, but you mastered how to be selfish.” Jon turned back to Ned. “She was worrying about Cersei, I was worrying about the Night King. But when I brought Dany to Winterfell, all Sansa worried about was her. 

“I told her we needed to band together. She refused, and sowed discord.” 

“I won back the North’s freedom that you gave away,” Sansa retorted. 

“You won _nothing,”_ Jon shot back. “You got lucky. If you do it again, I swear to you, I will not be on your side. I’m going to stand by Daenerys this time.” 

“You will do no such thing,” Daenerys told him. “Once I have my own body back, I’m not staying here.” She turned to Ned. “I will not continue to endanger your family with my presence.”

“I don’t wish to see you harmed,” Ned told her. “You’re young, and for that alone I wouldn’t want you harmed. But if not for your actions, it’s clear that I would be dead, and my wife, my children, on the path that would lead to their deaths. Lady would be dead, and Bran permanently injured. If you would, I’d like to hear your side in what happened.” 

“I thank you for that,” she said. Then she took a deep breath. “Whatever my side, it’s true that I burned the capitol. There can be no justification for that. I think it’s best I do not stay in Westeros once I have my own body back and can leave. I did not have love here. People looked at me and saw my father. And then I became him. I can’t stay here.

“There is a good chance that with all the preparation and time, you will not need my help against the dead this time. But if you do, send an emissary and I will come. I may not be able to do what I did the first time. Sansa has severed, perhaps forever, my relationship with the Dothraki. They respect strength, and running away would be seen by them as weakness. But with what resources I’m able to gather, I will help. Because you have earned that.

“You’ve been kind to me. You’ve provided me with training, education, a horse. You didn’t have to do any of that. When I was a queen in Meereen, I would listen to all my people. I felt that one voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found. 

“And that’s what you tried to do here, with us. I appreciate it. You wanted to hear what I had to say, even though I’m not your child or family. 

“By listening to your children and your men, watching your example, I’ve learned quite a lot, and armed with the knowledge from your library and the education you’ve been generous enough to provide, I believe I will serve my people in Essos far better than I was able to the first time, and for that I owe you a great debt.”

“You owe me nothing,” Ned said. “Again, we owe you our lives and our safety and if I understand correctly, this is the second time, since both Jon and Sansa have shared their tales and it’s clear you were the primary factor that enabled them to survive the Night King and Cersei. I’m so sorry my people did not treat you with the respect and graciousness you so clearly had earned.” 

“Thank you,” she murmured, and then closed her eyes briefly, keeping them trained on her lap once she opened them again. 

Ned turned again to Jon and Sansa; Jon looked sad, and grateful, and Sansa looked hurt and angry. 

“I imagine all three of you have much more to say to each other. I ask you all, please no arguing outside where anyone might hear you. Let’s meet again in two days time, and we can try to talk more civilly. This is not a demand, of course. It’s a request. I’d like all three of you to understand each other. Is there anything more that any of you would like to say?” 

“Whatever either of them think, I was only trying to keep the North free and safe,” Sansa said. 

“I did everything wrong,” Jon added, his voice heavy. “I brought Daenerys here, and told her the Northmen would come to see her for what she was...then I told them I’d bent the knee to save them. I found out about my parents and it turned my entire world inside out...and I just cut her out. I was weak. A coward. In every way. All my life, in all my dealings, I’ve never been a coward. I did things I regret. But not like this.” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “I told her she was my queen. Now and always. I kissed her. Then I put my dagger into her heart while I was kissing her.” He turned to her. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I will never forgive myself.” 

Ned looked at Daenerys then. She was still looking at her lap, but as if feeling his eyes on her, she looked up. 

“Anything I had to say to Jon, I’ve already said,” she told him. “And I mean no offense, but Sansa never meant anything to me. Before I met Jon’s family, I had hoped that they would like me. How not? I loved him. But I knew right away Sansa didn’t want to know me, she’d made up her mind and there was no changing it. Bran was very cold, but...something had happened to him. And I never really met Arya at all. I can’t say Sansa betrayed me. I knew what she would do, and she did it. She treated me like an enemy from the first. Betrayal never comes from an enemy.

“All that being said, there is one thing I would like to discuss. Something quite important I want to say.” 

“Go on.” 

“To you. Alone, if you would.” 

Ned turned to Jon and Sansa, nodding at them. Sansa looked outraged, but they both left. 

“What is it?” 

“I’m sorry to ask you this. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. I just...I didn’t want to say this in front of them, but I’ve grown very fond of you and your family. I don’t want anything to happen to any of you.”

“Likewise. Go on.” 

“Something Sansa said...that you being honorable was what got you killed. I never knew the details. Did either of them tell you?” 

Ned sighed. “Cersei Lannister’s children aren’t Robert’s,” he said, and from the look on her face, he guessed Daenerys already knew. “Jon said he believes I must have told someone, and then Robert was murdered, and I arrested. I spoke against Joffrey after Robert’s death, apparently.” 

“Who do you think you told?” 

“I couldn’t say. It must not have been Robert, if it got him killed. I would hesitate to go straight to Robert anyway. You may find this difficult to believe, and I can’t say I blame you for that, but I swear it’s the truth. I’d tell you in the Godswood, if you like. It’s said a man can’t tell a lie under a Heart tree.” 

“Sansa did.” 

Ned smiled faintly. “Maybe the rule is different for women?” 

She laughed at that. “You are perhaps the most honest man I’ve ever met, Jon’s parentage or other necessary lies notwithstanding. If you give your word, I accept it.” 

“I give you my word, then. There’s not a day that’s passed I’ve not been haunted by what happened to your brother’s children. It’s why I lied about Jon. I would be afraid that if I were to tell Robert, he would kill Cersei and the children. Cersei may deserve it, but the children...” he shuddered. 

“So you don’t believe you said anything?” 

“I must have. When Jon told me, my first thought was to tell Robert. Cat received a letter from her sister Lysa that suggested it was the Lannisters that killed Jon Arryn, and Stannis said he died while investigating this exact issue.”

“Who do you think you told?” She repeated.

“Does it matter?” 

“Yes.” 

He sighed again. “Perhaps I went to Cersei herself. To warn her to hide.”

“Does that seem a thing you would do?”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “It does, I’m afraid.” 

“I hate to say it, but Sansa may have at least some valid point. She’s gone through too much. She’s not the child you knew. I tried to tell this to Jon, but he wouldn’t listen. I think I...I’ve been much like you. Idealistic. Perhaps not as honorable as you.” 

“You strike me as very honorable.”

She smiled at him. “I thank you for that. But I’ve done my share of less than honorable things. Sometimes we must.” 

“I’m curious, what have you done that was not honorable? Aside from burning the city.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “How much time do you have?”

It was late in the afternoon when they finished talking. She’d told him quite a few stories. How she’d obtained her Unsullied, which he had to own might not be strictly honorable, but how much honor was one required to employ with so oppressive a regime? 

She’d gone on to tell him other things, and while she’d certainly been ruthless at times, he was hard pressed to actually call her actions _dishonorable._

He had no doubt there was more, and he found himself curious to know the rest of it. She had told him some time ago that she thought her life would be very different if he’d been her father instead of her own. He found himself wishing he had been. He thought that might be selfish. 

Catelyn would have certainly been as cold to a Targaryen baby had he brought one home with him as she’d been to Jon.

_A second Targaryen baby, really..._

But Jon had his siblings, and he knew Ned loved him. Had an education and never had to go without food or shelter. 

Surely that would have been better for Daenerys than living in the streets and hiding from assassins, going hungry. 

And perhaps her brother too would have been happier...but no. The boy knew he was. And then perhaps Robert would have killed both of them. 

But perhaps not. Ned wondered if he’d been given the strange opportunity given to Jon and Daenerys and Sansa, to go back, would he dare to take the child she’d been and raise her? 

Perhaps that would be a terrible disservice to her, and to the hundreds of thousands of enslaved people in Essos that she had freed, that she would free in the future, as she’d made it very clear she intended to return to Essos to continue her work as soon as she was able. 

Just as it would be a disservice now, to have her stay, to try to protect her as his own, as he fiercely wanted. As much as she seemed a child, she wasn’t. She was a woman grown and with work to do. 

The thing that hurt him most, in all her stories, some to emphasize her supposed lack of honor and others to explain mistakes she’d made in having, not so much honor herself, but the expectation of it in others, was Jon killing her. She’d kept no guards around her. She’d worn no armor. She’d simply trusted him. 

“It’s like in all these years, I learned nothing,” she had told him. 

She said she’d made the same mistake with Westeros at the end of her journey, that she’d made at the beginning of it with a woman named Mirri Maz Duur. 

“You might think you’re helping someone, but if they see you as an enemy it’s never going to matter. I know that now.” 

He wondered why she was so calm now, why in this conversation, when she’d been yelling at everyone when she first woke in Sansa’s body. 

He’d asked her about it, and she had said that when she first came, she was still enraged, still afraid. 

“I can’t promise you I won’t fly off the handle again,” She’d said with a small smile. “But I can try. I didn’t expect to see my brother again. It’s as if...as if I’m starting all over again. It’s a long road, and a lot of work, but it’s an incredible gift I’ve been given. I want to try to learn from the mistakes I made. The mistakes everyone made. To listen to my enemies, hear their side.” 

“Jon does not wish to be your enemy,” Ned noted. 

“Jon...” she winced. “I loved him. He meant so much to me. Sansa never meant anything to me. I was hurt by her actions, but nowhere near as much as I was by Jon’s, because I trusted him. Now, I just want to learn everything I can so I can be better this time. I can never forgive Jon, not only for killing me but for everything he did, and didn’t do, before that. But I can’t forgive myself, either. I burned a city that had surrendered. That’s antithetical to everything I believed.” 

Ned paced his solar, now that she’d left. Daenerys was set on leaving as soon as she could, and he could not think of any valid reason to stop her. What value were his own paternal feelings for the girl, when compared with so great an evil as the Essosi slave trade? 

He would have to let her go when the time came. 

He was sick over Sansa. She had been abused by Ramsay, still Ramsay Snow now, and Ned wanted to find him and kill him. 

Roose Bolton as well. 

Could he do that? Kill two men for things they’d not yet done? 

And what was his part in it? It sounded as if his own mistakes had played a major role in starting all the horrors that had happened. 

His headache had not let up by supper, and he sat in the Great Hall trying not to wear a morose expression. 

Cat was telling him about some engagements that had occurred, and that led to her discussing prospects for Sansa and Robb. 

“Walder Frey would like to have Robb meet one of his -“

“No,” Jon, Sansa, and Daenerys all said in unison.

Ned bit back a laugh. “We really don’t have to decide this now,” he said. 

“It doesn’t hurt to start thinking about it. And Robb is coming of an age.” 

“Mother,” Robb said, flushing. 

“I’d like you to meet some young ladies. That’s all. Just meet with them. I don’t see why you can’t just _meet_ with Roslin Frey.”

“Why can’t he just _meet_ with Margaery Tyrell?” Daenerys objected, her tone clearly meant in jape.

“Yes!” Sansa said, sitting up straight. “That’s an excellent idea.” 

“Thanks,” Robb said, glaring playfully at them. 

Ned almost laughed at the expression on Cat’s face. She was angry about Sansa interjecting, because she believed her to be Daenerys; but the idea of Margaery Tyrell appealed to her. 

“Let’s talk about this at a later date,” Ned said firmly. He didn’t know much about the Tyrells, but that they were wealthy, sneaky and ambitious. But it was so exceedingly rare for Sansa and Daenerys to agree on anything at all, he thought it couldn’t hurt to give it some thought.


End file.
